


Save My Soul

by SageMerlot13



Category: Soul Calibur
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2019-08-24 20:49:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 45,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16647527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SageMerlot13/pseuds/SageMerlot13
Summary: Grøh and my personal version of the conduit at the end of it all.





	1. Favor the Fallen

**Author's Note:**

> Important Notes: 
> 
> 1: I have only gotten one ending, I assume the bad one, because I’m impulsive and made evil choices. I wrote this rather than grind through and try to get a good one, so bear with me on details.  
> 2: It’s not overly relevant to this story, but in-game Medea uses Geralt’s style (because why would you not) to best match my head canon of her being a hedge-witch in the Irish/Scottish wilderness before she is exposed to the fissures on a journey to learn more advanced magic techniques. She was more of healer than a warrior, and takes up a sword more out of necessity than because she wants to. She’s not an overly skilled swords woman at the beginning, but she’s spunky and has fire balls. Or triangles, as the case may be. My theory is she improves as she goes and meets more people she wants to help. Being a witch who is in general shunned or feared, Medea is particularly interested in helping outcasts and those rejected by polite society. Really hates nobility.  
> 3: “The Hat”. Again, head canon, but also her in-game character design, Medea wears a literal witch’s hat with raven feathers stuck in the band devotedly. Partially because she finds it amusing to see how people react, and partially because the wide brim gives her a little bit of anonymity.

“Grøh.” 

  
He was staring up at the sky, feeling like it was the first time he had seen it in ages.

  
What day was it? How long _had_  it been?

  
He was aware that he was one the ground. Aware of the clean scent of snow. Aware of it seeping into the back of his coat, the chill and the damp unpleasant, but also a welcome reminder that he was not, in fact, dead.

  
Aware of the weight pinning him in the snow, the warmth and the scent familiar. How long had it been since that night and he had been filled with the aroma of roses and exotic spices drifting from her hair?

  
“Grøh,” She said again, and while it was only half a question, he understood.

  
Was he really Grøh, or was he… whatever he had been? Everything was a blur.

  
The last moments of sanity had been filled with thoughts of her. Save her. Buy her time to grow stronger. The fate of the world rested on her shoulders, he mattered so little in comparison.

  
He had heard her scream for him. Cry out in anguish even though all that he had been was lost in his affliction. The man she had given her heart and body to had been lost in more ways than one that day.

  
Shame filled him. All he had ever done was take from her. Use her. And she had grown attached to him in spite of that. He had thought his bond with her would sustain him.

  
He had been weak. Too weak to deserve everything she gave him.

  
Was he back? Was he as he had been before?

  
Her voice was clear in the silent field, direct. Hopeful.

  
He must, at the very least, answer her.

  
“Medea.”

  
There was a gasp, and both her palms landed flat on his chest as she pushed herself up enough to meet his gaze.

  
Her eyes were wet, Grøh turned his face away. She should not cry over him. He did not deserve it.

  
The scar on his face burned as if to remind him how far he had fallen. It mattered not that he had done it for her. He had given in to the monster inside.

  
Her hands were cold from the snow when she touched his face, her fingers brushing the scar and she did not even seem to care.

  
“Grøh look at me. Please.” Medea’s words were no longer so clear, no longer so determined. There was a tremor in her voice that was not fear. He obeyed, only because he had never thought he would ever have the joy of looking on her face again. She smiled, though it was weak and wavering. “You… lived.”

  
Her thumb ran along his cheek, skimmed across the three lines of scarred skin. She was happy. Grøh closed his eyes.

  
_Do not look at me like that._

  
She should not look at him like he was forgiven, like him being alive was something to be joyous over. She could not.  
He deserved nothing less than death.

  
Her lips pressed against his, warm and welcoming as they had been that night. Tasting faintly of wine.

  
He had never deserved her.

  
And yet she kissed him so passionately, as if the blood now on his hands did not matter.

  
He did not deserve her forgiveness, but oh how he wanted it.

  
If the gods struck him down this very moment, he would happily go to his grave with the taste of her on his tongue.

  
His warrior, his reason, his love.

  
He had not known how to love her. He wished now only for time to learn.

  
When he touched her he half expected her to recoil, to remember what he had been, to flinch at his uncovered left arm. But his hands pressed into her back, holding her even tighter to him, and instead her arms slipped around his neck, pulling him up from the snow only enough to return his embrace with equal fervor.

  
He had once thought his mission his purpose for living.

  
Before her, his existence had barely constituted “living”.

  
His mouth opened to her, his heart, his everything.

  
Eventually, he knew, reality would shatter this moment. He wanted to hold onto it as long as he could.

  
His fingers threaded into her hair, knocking her ridiculous hat away gently. How the damn thing had managed to stay on her head for the fight, he would never know. He angled her mouth to his more completely, sealed them so close that not even air could get between them.

  
She accepted it all, unphased, unflinching. As if their night had been only yesterday and he had never become the Black Demon.

  
She broke away to take a breath, and Grøh realized he also had not taken one in the last several moments. Her forehead rested against his, and he could taste the remnants of her tears on his lips. Tears of happiness, not of fear, not of regret.

  
“So cold,” She said, her hands gently stroking down his neck to the wet collar of his coat. “And soaked. You need rest. Come.”

She moved away, reached for her hat, and he missed the sweet weight of her instantly. If he asked, would she let him hold her again? Or now that reality was starting to assert itself, would she be repulsed?

  
He caught her arm. “Forgive me.”

  
He did not deserve it. Nor was she the only one he must beg forgiveness from.

  
“All of this was because of me. I should ask you to forgive me, for being so weak you had to make this choice.” She shook her head. “What matters now is that you are alive. And whole. The rest we can talk about later, after you rest.”

  
A sick taste rose in his throat. How had she even entertained the idea that she was to blame for what had become of him?  
But he did not have a chance to argue, Medea rose from the snow, pulling at him until he followed suit.

  
His legs were shaky. He likely had not eaten anything since he had fallen other than tearing at occasional scraps like some kind of animal.

  
Shame reared its head once again, but Medea did not give him the chance to crumple as he deserved. She crowded close to his side, dragging his arm around her shoulders. They were not so thin as they had used to be.

  
She had been training hard. Training to save him.

  
Progress was slow through the snow, but she was patient.

  
She had set up camp in a thick cluster of pines that were close enough together only hints of the snow had fallen beneath their branches.

  
Despite everything, her properly constructed campsite made the corner of his mouth twitch. When he had first stumbled upon her, she had not even known how to pitch a tent, let alone survive alone in the wilderness.

  
With the exception of her foraging skills, he supposed. No matter where they had ended up, she always seemed able to turn up some kind of useful vegetation, be it edible or medicinal.

  
How things changed given time and circumstance. She settled him gently near the empty fire pit on a fallen branch, tossing wood into the pit with no sort of order or organization. Then again, she had never really needed to go through the hassle of actually building a fire.

  
A snap of her fingers ignited the wood.

  
_Benefits of being a true witch_. He thought wryly.

  
She turned to him, and her fingers went to the neck of his coat, undoing the first couple of fastenings with unabashed, unembarrassed efficiency.

  
“Medea-”

  
“Your clothes are all soaked. I brought some things for you, but did not think of clothes. A blanket will have to do until I at least get the coat dry.”

  
She stripped as many layers as she could from him without it starting to feel intimate. Coat, boots, shirt, all ended up hanging from a rope strung between two trees near the fire.

  
His skin felt numb, her fingers felt too warm. She partially disappeared into the tent only long enough to drag out a heavy wool blanket, and her hand brushed across his shoulders tenderly before she draped it around him.

  
He preferred her warmth to anything the blanket provided. He dare not ask.

  
Medea pressed bread into his hand, her fingers folding around his as if worried he would drop it.

  
“So cold…” She muttered, and he did not know if he was meant to answer or if she was merely talking aloud. “Spiced wine,” She decided then, and she smiled softly at him. “To get you warmed up.”

  
She turned, presumably to walk back to the tent and her pack. Impulse grabbed him. He had never been impulsive. Perhaps losing himself so completely was still affecting him.

  
He cared not.

  
His right arm caught her around her waist before she could turn fully, pulling her back to him. She willingly stepped between his knees, did not protest when he pressed his face against her stomach, his hand flat on her back. Closer, he wanted her closer, but was loath to touch her with his other arm and properly hold her. The root of the infection she had fought so hard to save him from.

  
Medea’s hands moved over his hair, gentle petting. “You need to eat something, my love.”

  
Love. She had never called him that before. How could she mean that? What had he ever done to earn it?

  
He could only shake his head, silently deny that she could possibly love him, and push his cheek against her. She did not press further, accepted his silence as she always had. Her hands slipped under the blanket, her warmth seeping into him, her palms resting on his shoulders.

  
Holding her, to be held. He had never expected to have this again. He had been at peace with that. For a moment that seemed to go on forever but also felt incredibly short, she stayed in his embrace, let him breathe her in, let him absorb her heat.

  
“Grøh.” She broke the silence that had settled over the campsite, her fingers carded through his hair gently, once, twice. He could not be tempted to pull away from her even enough to meet her gaze.

  
It occurred to him suddenly that he did not know if his eye had returned to normal. If it was still the grotesque, malfested red, he imagined he was quite frightening to look upon. Medea had not seemed bothered, but she had always… accepted.

  
“I will not lose you to starvation and frostbite instead of malfestation. Eat something, there will be time. We have time now.” She gently pulled away from him, and he let her go only because he knew that she was right. He had no idea the last time he had eaten anything, and while his fingers were starting to regain some feeling, he knew the risks.

  
Ironically, it was likely his affliction that had kept him alive through this.

  
She kissed the top of his head gently, and retrieved another piece of bread, the first having fallen to the wayside. He ate slowly, feeling a bit like he had forgotten how. Even the bland bites of bread hit his stomach like so many stones. She seemed to know this, though he said nothing.

  
It must have shown on his face.

  
“Tea instead of wine,” Medea said, returning to her pack. Of course she had tea in there.

  
He watched her prepare it, trying to boil water on the small fire that probably was not nearly hot enough, still trying to work his way slowly through the bread, disbelief settling in his chest. To be here. To be with her again. He had never imagined, never dared dream it was a possibility.

  
She gave up on boiling the water conventionally and snapped her fingers at the little pot, launching a little gout of fire directly into the water, heating it instantly. She glanced at him with the tiniest of smiles. Once upon a time he would have scolded her for using magic so casually, let alone amongst all this dry debris from the trees.

  
He could see she had been practicing that as well. She had grown stronger in all aspects. All to try and save him.

  
He was incredibly humbled by the knowledge. He must ask her to tell him all that had transpired while they were separated.

  
Tea steeped, she brought him a cup, had one for herself, and squeezed onto the branch that had been serving as a bench next to him. Her leg pressed against his, and she leaned lightly against his side. Mint and lavender wafted up from the cup, a hint of something else.

  
“Valerian,” She said without him having to ask. “It will help you relax. Sleep.”

  
Her hand traveled up and down his arm as he finished up the bread, the motion soothing. He felt as if he should say something. Had he even thanked her?

  
“Medea.”

  
“Hm?”

  
“I… I am so grateful. Thank you. For… everything.”

  
“The sword saved you. I only carried it.”

  
“No. The sword would have killed me. Should have killed me, I’m malfested.” She frowned, and he sensed she wanted to argue, though they both knew it was the truth. “You wanted to save me, so it let me live. If it had been anyone else… I could not have come back.”

  
“But you did.”

  
“You promised to kill me. When I lost myself.” She was silent for a long moment. She had not forgotten her promise.

  
“You had to know that I would never be able to do that.”

  
“I was… I could have hurt you.” He almost had. Twice. She had been fighting for her life while trying to bring him back. It had only been through her sheer determination that they were both able to sit here now.

  
Grøh’s heart swelled with love for this amazing woman.

  
“Thank you,” He repeated, feeling like it was not enough. Knowing it was not enough. He would never be able to repay her for all that she had given him. He turned into her, just… wanting to be close. The damn hat was in the way again, but he ignored it, tucking his head beneath the brim and burying his nose in her hair near her ear. He drank his tea only because she insisted. It did ease the ache in his stomach as it tried to remember what to do with real food.

  
His limbs began to feel heavy, the fire starting to die. He did not want her to leave even long enough to get more firewood.  
She seemed able to intuit this even though he said nothing.

  
“I’m going to make up the bed, alright? We can decide what we need to do next after you rest.”

  
Grøh gave the faintest nod. Did he dare ask her to lay with him?

  
He finished the tea at approximately the same time Medea touched his shoulder gently, took his arm to guide him up to his feet and towards the tent. The wool blanket appeared to be the heaviest she had been able to pack, but the tent was still filled with smaller blankets. Medea nudged him into the center of the nest, bundling him up until he started to feel a bit like he was being swaddled.

  
She reached over to the flap and pulled it closed, tied it, sealing them in the semi-darkness in the fading evening light.  
There was a rustling, and he realized that Medea was removing her own clothes.

  
“You do not-”

  
“Hush, love. I want to.” When she was almost bare, down to what barely counted as small clothes, she slid into the blankets next to him, one leg and one arm draping over him, pressing the length of her entire body against him. “I want to keep you warm.”

  
Feeling her bare breasts against his chest certainly did get blood flowing.

  
Now was not the time, he chastised himself.

  
Even if he thought he could physically perform, which Grøh was well aware he could not given his half-frozen, half-starved state, he had no right to ask it of her. He would not ask her for more than she had already given.

  
He could only hope to one day feel worthy of her again. To earn back his place at her side.

  
His right hand traveled gently up and down the curve of her waist, marvelling at how soft her skin always felt under his rough palms. He felt goosebumps pebbling her skin, uncertain whether it was because his hand was still closer to the temperature of snow, or because his touch might disgust her now.

  
He pulled his hand away.

  
“Leave it.” Medea’s voice whispered against his lips, as she pulled herself impossibly closer. “It bothers you much more than it does me.”

  
Her words took him back to the night they had shared, he still knew not how long ago. Grøh did not know how long he had been the Black Demon, but memories of that night in her arms had been a blessing and a curse he carried with him for the duration of it. The night she had found each of his scars, kissed them in turn, made him feel whole and human when he had not in years upon years.

  
She had said those same words to him when she had taken his visor. When she said she wanted to see all of him. He had been afraid to meet her eyes, had not wanted her to see the malfestation festering in his left eye.

  
She had kissed him until he was no longer afraid.

  
The visor had lain forgotten until the next morning.

  
Grøh returned his hand to her waist, splayed it across her ribs, felt her heartbeat faintly and her breath. Medea’s fingers wandered through the blankets until they found his left hand, holding it tightly between both of hers. When he tried to pull it away she clutched it against her chest.

  
“I want you to touch me. Hold me.” She had been so close that when she tilted her head just an inch, her lips met his. The kiss was long and slow and tender, filled with affection and devotion and he felt so entirely wretched for corrupting her heart with his presence.

  
Even knowing he was unfit, he accepted it. Because he wanted it so very desperately. He wanted her, in any way she would let him have her.

  
It was only by some miracle that she deemed him worthy of all of her.

  
“Sleep, my love,” She whispered, and he wondered briefly if it was a spell, then decided that he did not care if it was.

  
In the dark of the tent, Medea’s lips close enough to his that their breathing mingled, their bodies tangled tightly together in a way that was both completely intimate and somehow completely chaste, warmth finally starting ease its way back into him, Grøh slept for the first time in what felt like eternity.

***

He woke well after the sun, hands scrambling for Medea, and felt his heart seizing when he found only cold empty blankets. For a moment he was terrified yesterday had been a deluded dream and any moment now madness would descend upon him and he would realize she would never come back for him except to slay him.

  
His eyes snapped open and he found his clothes sitting in a pile at arm’s reach. Not a dream. He was still in the tent, the scent of Medea still clung to him, the taste of her faint on his lips.

  
_Not a dream, not a dream, not a dream._

  
His limbs still weak, but better than they had been yesterday, he pushed himself up into a half-sitting position. Atop his coat rested the visor he had long thought lost.

  
Had Medea been carrying that with her all this time…?

  
The coat was damp still, but better than nothing, and miraculously still in one piece. It was a testament to Aval’s resources that it was sturdy enough to have held up this long. Though it was missing a sleeve.

  
The left of course. Without the gauntlet it has not been able to last through the malfestation. 

  
Constant reminders surrounded him.

  
There was the sound of movement just outside the tent, and the pull of seeing Medea, even though he had just spent the night holding her close, drew Grøh outside.

  
Medea was back at the fire pit, a number of what appeared to be mushrooms and weeds set out on a cloth before her as she added them thoughtfully to a pot over the flames.

  
She turned as if sensing his eyes on her. Her smile seemed absolutely radiant.

  
“Good morning. I meant to come back to bed before you woke, but I also wanted to get some real food in you.” She dusted off her hands and approached him. Her eyes dropped to the visor held lightly in his fingers. “Ah. I was… unsure if you would still want it.”

  
“You kept it?”

  
“It was… all I could find, from that day. The only thing I had left to help me find you. Or remember you. I… did not know then if you were still alive.” She was looking at her hands tangling together before her. He touched her chin gently, and she tipped her face back to him easily. Medea smiled again, softly this time.

  
Relief, joy, trepidation. He wondered what it had been like to realize he was alive only to find him a monster. Pain, he knew, without asking. He had been aware enough to see it in her eyes. It had caused her so much pain to see him like that.

  
When did he stop hurting her?

  
Today. This very moment. His life was now hers for as long as she wanted it. There was no where else for him to go, no one else for him to turn to.

  
Medea was now all that mattered to him.

  
Grøh contemplated the visor again. There was no need for it, he supposed. There was no point in trying to hide what he was from her. Medea knew what lurked inside him, had seen him fall to it.

  
“It is… your choice. It means nothing to me now.”

  
She blinked, slightly taken aback by his answer, and then gently pulled it from his fingers to toss the lens into the tent carelessly.

  
“I prefer to see your whole face,” She said simply, and he nodded in compliance. She touched his cheek and then reached for his hand, tugging him gently towards the fire. He sat in almost the same spot as yesterday, a little more to the side to make more room for her beside him in the hopes she would join him again.

  
She did, her leg resting against his while they shared tea and bread, waiting for the soup to finish.

  
Perhaps it was just because she had somehow managed to track down so many native ingredients, but the smell of the soup reminded him of home.

  
This had been home once. He glanced around the rough tundra, and then turned his gaze to where her hand rested on his knee.

  
Or maybe it reminded him of home because she was home to him now. Wherever Medea was, that is where Grøh wanted to be.

  
“Are you alright?” She patted his knee, and he realized he had been staring at her hand intently for a long while.  
“I am,” he answered, and he almost felt as if he meant it.

  
“I admit I have… not thought of what we should do next.” She ventured after a time.

  
It almost made him smile. How like her. Once Medea got an idea in her head, she pursued it quite doggedly, consequences be damned. He was unsurprised that she had so devoutly gone about bringing him back without planning what she expected to do with him afterwards.

  
Hopefully, whatever the plan ended up being, it involved keeping him close.

  
“I can not go back to Aval.” 

  
She nodded. “That much I guessed. Since-”

  
“Since I am an Outsider now.”

  
“Grøh-”

“It is simply the truth,” he shushed her gently. “You may have brought me back to my senses, but the infection is beyond hiding now. They will exterminate me on sight, as their mission dictates.”

  
She was pressed to his side, her other hand curled around his arm as if even the possibility was too much for her to bear.

  
“Then we go away,” she decided, quietly but fiercely. “We can stay here long enough for you you to regain your strength, and we leave.”

  
“And go where?” Not that he cared. As long as it was “we” and she planned to take him, anywhere was fine with him.  
Even if he hated everything she would be throwing away. Aval and all its resources, its agents, would keep her far safer than he ever could alone. His gaze was drawn to his left hand for a brief moment.

  
He was still unsure if he could keep her safe from himself.

  
He was sane again, for the moment, but they had no way of knowing if the infection would simply grow and overwhelm him again.

  
“I… have not gotten there yet, either,” Medea confessed sheepishly in answer to his question.

  
“It matters not,” he said, and drew her hand to his lips, pressing a kiss against her knuckles. They were far more scarred than he remembered. “We can decide later.”

  
She smiled widely at him and nodded.

  
He did not know if Aval would hunt him. For a malfested, he was a rare case. If they did, his choice was already crystal clear. He would turn himself over to them to do with as they wish, as long as Medea was left alone.

  
She was his mission now. His only mission. If they would not agree to those terms, he would cut them down until they did.  
It seemed strange to feel so assured in his course of action when Aval has been the center of his life for so long.

  
He had always known that the infection spreading this far was a possibility, that eventually he would be the thing he had always hated.

  
What he had never anticipated was having a reason to want to continue living after he was no longer useful to Aval.

She left his side to tend to the soup. He thought perhaps he should offer to help, but she had always shooed him away from preparing food. It was not something in his skill set. He had always been content with dried meat and bread. Fast and portable, if simple and tasteless.

  
He knew nothing about which plants were edible and which were poison. One of the things about her that had initially impressed him. The medicinal teas she had provided he, Dion, and Natalie during their time together had been able to ease everything from aching joints to coughs to infections.

  
“Here. Try it.” She pressed the teacup she had been using, now filled to the brim with stew, into his hands.

  
How she had made something so hearty out of what little the Scandinavian wilderness had to offer was a complete and total mystery to him.

  
But Grøh was grateful for it. Bread was fine to a point, but he knew to recover physically from how hard the malfestation had pushed his body he was going to have to eat something more substantial.

  
“Have you eaten?” He realized suddenly that she was tending to her sword instead of joining him with breakfast.

  
“I made it for you,” she said simply as if it explained all. “It will help you recover.”

  
“Some kind of potion.”

  
“Not really. Most of it comes from the mushrooms and the herbs themselves. I was surprised how many medicinals grow in a snowy place like this.” She gestured at the still mostly full pan. “Eat up. The healthier you are, the better I feel.”

  
She ruffled his hair in a way that seemed almost motherly.

  
He could not remember the last time anyone had cared for him so completely.

  
Food restored him significantly, and Grøh decided that perhaps it was time to truly take stock of the situation.

  
Medea was here, and that was the most important thing.

  
However, their resources had become significantly more limited now that Aval was no longer a backer.

  
Not that he doubted they could survive. There was always a call for warriors somewhere, there would be work and money when they needed it. He glanced at Medea.

  
She had never wanted to be a warrior. Before she had been exposed to those damn fissures, she had been happy with her magic, her garden, and her friends on the outskirts her little village. They may not have fully accepted her, but Medea had built a life there. She had told him once she wished to go back, when things were over.

  
Fate had dragged her into his path.

  
He had made her into a warrior.

  
Surely there was just as much call for healers. Would Medea prefer that? He could walk a path of peace if need be, fight only when her safety necessitated it. Regardless of what she decided to do, his plan remained unchanged; he would be her guardian, at her call as long as she wished it.

  
For a moment, Grøh dared dream of even more. Perhaps not just her twisted protector on the edge of his sanity. Perhaps her lover? She had expressed a willingness to still be with him in that capacity, and it both thrilled and frightened him.

  
The first time, only time thus far he supposed, had been… clumsy. A night of passion he had not known he had been harboring on the eve of a battle they had not been certain they would survive. Passionate and tender and fulfilling, yes, but clumsy. Marked by inexperience and the desperation of not knowing if it would be their only chance to be together, truly together.

  
And now they had all the time in the world. All the nights in the world.

  
He was uncertain how people in love usually proceeded, it had never been something he gave much thought too. But he was, as best he could understand, completely in love.

  
Maybe it would be better to let Medea tell him what she wanted and act accordingly.

  
It occurred to him that he had never had to plan his future before. It had always been a simple matter of moving on to the next mission.

  
He rather liked it.

  
Medea was smiling over at him in an oddly fond fashion. He raised an eyebrow at her.

  
“What is it?” She asked. He shook his head, not understanding her meaning.

  
“What is what?”

  
“You look happy. I just wondered why I suppose.” He contemplated her answer for a moment. No one had accused him of being easy to read in a very long time. Even longer since someone had suggested he was happy.

  
He supposed be was. Closer than he had ever been before at least.

  
He considered telling her so, but was interrupted by an intense feeling of being watched from just behind him. The sixth sense was the one symptom of malfestation he was glad to still have.

  
He turned sharply and rose to his feet, fourth cup of soup falling from his hands haphazardly, moving immediately between Medea and the presence.

  
It did not matter that he had no weapon, that he was still at half his normal physical condition at best. If this was a threat to them, a threat to _her_ , he was going to tear it apart.

  
The eyes he had felt belonged to a tall, dark-skinned man carrying a large scythe.

  
Grøh did not know how the man had appeared so suddenly and with so little warning, nor did he care. Medea’s safety was his only concern.

  
“Grøh.” Her voice was soft and firm and it stopped him dead mid-stride towards the man. Her hand on his bare left bicep was the only reason he relaxed out of an attack posture. He still watched the man intently though. “I know him. Zasalamel. He means you no harm, he told me how to save you.”

  
Zasalamel. He recalled she had mentioned him a time or two. He was very knowledgeable about the astral chaos and the two swords.

  
Grøh decided he did not trust him.

  
Zasalamel gave a brief, wry chuckle. “A wise choice.” He said it as if he had heard the thought directly. “I only said I knew of a possibility. She is the one who decided to save you.”

  
Grøh nodded once. He did not need to be told he owed Medea thanks. He was well aware that he owed her everything. That most people would have given up on him the moment he had embraced the monster.

  
“What brings you here?” Medea asked, her tone equal parts friendly and confused. Apparently this Zasalamel made a habit of appearing on his whims.

  
“The Black Demon and the Witch who saved his soul. It sounds… almost like a twisted fairytale. I merely wished to see if you had managed to bring him back from the brink.”

  
Her hand on his arm shifted, and Medea linked their hands firmly, standing at his side proudly. “I have.”

  
Another minute chuckle. “And without killing him. Fascinating.”

  
Zasalamel turned as if dropping in that way had in fact just been a flight of curious fancy, and now that he was satisfied, his business was concluded. Grøh took a half-step after him.

  
“Wait.”

  
Zasalamel halted, though Grøh had no doubt it was more out of his own curiosity than because he cared about anything he had to say.

  
“Is it permanent? Or is there a chance of losing myself again?”

  
The taller man regarded him around the edge of his hood with a completely neutral expression.

  
“Malfestation is a disease for which there is no cure. There is always a chance of relapse.” He felt Medea’s fingers tighten between his, and squeezed her hand back. He hoped reassuringly, but it was a condition he had already accepted. He could not promise it would never happen, but he could promise that he would never allow it to hurt her again.

  
If he gave in to it again, his life was forfeit. By his own hand if need be.

  
Zasalamel observed their joined hands casually, and then met Grøh’s stare levelly.

  
“One who is malfestated eventually loses all reason. All humanity, all connection. Cling to it while you can.”

  
“I intend to.” For as long as she would allow it. “She has nothing to fear from me.”

  
“I am not the one you need to convince.”

  
Even as his mouth opened to demand an explanation, Zasalamel vanished, seemingly into thin air. The only evidence he had been there at all was the disturbance in the carpet of fallen pine needles where he had walked.

  
He released her hand quickly. He had not needed to convince Zasalamel. Then he needed to convince Medea.

  
She was afraid of him. He had known it, somewhere deep down. How could she not be afraid of him?

  
She hid it well. He had been utterly fooled. Utterly believed that there was a future where he could have her.

  
“Grøh?” Her hand on his arm sent a shock through him, and he jerked away before he really thought about it. Her hand still tentatively raised, Medea stared at him with wide eyes. “What-”

  
“Are you afraid?” The words tore out of his chest, leaving a sick, open ache. He dreaded the answer. But he had to know. He must know the truth.

  
“Of course no-”

  
“Are you afraid?” He demanded louder.

  
What would he do if she said yes? What reason did he have then?

  
Medea’s eyes filled up with tears. Regret beat at him instantly, wishing fervently that he could have stopped himself from raising his voice. If she did fear him, that was sure to only make it worse.

  
She rushed the step he had pulled away, and he was not sure what to expect until she threw her arms around his neck. He had not anticipated the reaction, nor how hard she threw herself into the hug, and she knocked him over into an awkward, tumbled sitting position.

  
Undeterred, she hauled herself onto his lap with her head pressed into the crook of his neck.

  
“Idiot,” She grumbled it against his shoulder, and he could feel the dampness that was surely tears. “You damned, damned idiot.”

  
“Medea, what-” he raised his arms, thinking to embrace her, but he was not totally certain whether she was angry enough with him to simply shove him off if he did.

  
“Afraid? Of course I am!” Her fist hit him between his shoulder blades, but it was scarcely hard enough to be taken seriously.

  
His heart sank and turned to ice. He imagined for a moment that it was probably similar to how death would feel. “I-”

  
What did he say? Did he apologize? Did he leave? Did he still offer her his life and his loyalty even if she clearly not want it?

  
“Not of you. Never of you.” The words came out sounding near a sob. “The only thing that scares me about this is losing you again.”

  
He went still, disbelief filling him only to be quickly conquered by certainty. Medea was nothing if not sincere.

  
He believed her, absolutely.

  
The first time she had found him, he had attacked her.

  
She should have given up on him then, brought the entirety of the Aval organization after him and slaughtered him. Instead, she had kept him a secret, and set out on a journey seeking anything that could save him.

  
Afraid _for_ him, never _of_ him.

  
It was not Medea he needed to convince.

  
His hand cupped the back of her head, held her tight to him. “Medea.”

  
She gave a muffled affirmative that she was listening.

  
“I will never willingly leave your side again unless you tell me to. I swear it.” Her grip on his neck tightened, fingers latching onto the fur at his coat collar with a fierce tenacity.

  
“I would never-”

  
“But you must promise me something as well.” He himself could not guarantee the outcome. He did not know if he could fight the malfestation off a second time if it ever flared again. The only way he could be certain he would not hurt her was to make her promise not to allow it.

  
“Promise you… what?” She questioned, pulling her face away from his shoulder at least. Her cheeks were wet with tears, already growing frosty in the arctic air.

  
Grøh brushed at them with the tip of his finger with as much gentleness as he could muster.

  
“If I ever do anything to hurt you, anything at all, you will turn me over to Aval.”

“What? No! They would kill you-“

  
“I know. But if I go that far, it means there is nothing left of me to save anymore. That I have gone back to…” he gestured vaguely at the field where she had tracked him down, not once, but twice.

  
Where he had attacked her with the intent to kill not once, but twice.

  
“No. I can summon the sword again, I can-”

  
“You almost died the first time,” he interrupted her sternly. “I almost killed you. The only way I can do this is if you promise me.”

  
“But-”

  
“I will not trust myself to know when I start to lose control. Especially when it concerns you. I might convince myself I still have control because I will not… want to leave you. I may let it out if I think it will protect you. I…” he paused, looked away, tried to form the tangle of things in his heart into words. “I get emotional, when something involves you. Irrational. So I need you to watch me. I need you to promise me.”

  
Medea only frowned at him. Complete denial hard in her eyes.

  
He sighed.

  
“Only go to those you trust if you are uncertain. Natalie or Dion. You know them, they will be honest with you about whether or not I am completely corrupted. Natalie will end my life before I do you any harm if you need her to.”

  
“Stop talking about it so easily!” Medea snapped, and while it sounded angry, he knew she truly was not.

  
She was afraid for him. Terrified of the choice she may have to make. She had both of her hands gripped at his collar like she planned to shake some sense into him.

  
No good came of trying to tame a rabid animal. It must be put down before it harmed innocents.

  
It was an unfair burden to place on her, he knew. But he could not trust himself.

  
He trusted Medea with all of his being.

  
Grøh folded both of her hands between his near his heart.

  
She was tall for a woman, but her hands had always felt tiny in his. Delicate.

  
“Please, Medea. The only thing _I_ fear is hurting you. So stop me before I can. Do not let it go that far again.” He nodded again towards the field.

  
Her jaw was set firmly, but it seemed, if nothing else, the Medea recognized the earnesty in his voice.

  
“If you become a risk,” she placed undue emphasis on the word ‘if’ “-then I would go to Zasalamel first. Natalie wanted to hunt you down without question. He was the only one who even suggested there was an alternative.”

  
It was not what he had hoped she would say, but it was a compromise. Truly, all he wanted was to be with her. As long as he was able.

  
It was a cruel comfort to know there was a contingency plan in place should the worst befall this attempt at happiness he was still not entirely certain he deserved.

  
“Very well. He will judge me first.”

  
She made a face that was uncharacteristically like a pout. “Satisfied then?”

  
“Hm.” The little grunt had come close to being a laugh. A bitter laugh, but a laugh nonetheless.

  
There were few things in the world that satisfied him. He thanked any gods listening that one of them happened to be sitting on his lap in the dirt in a tiny copse of trees in the middle of a frozen field.

  
Not exactly a future he had ever imagined for himself. But certainly one he would not willingly trade.

  
The previous topic still shrouded her eyes slightly in worry, but a hint of a smile showed on Medea’s lips. “What are you thinking about?”

  
“That I would very much like to spend the rest of the day laying naked with you in a tent.”

  
For a split second he had stunned her speechless, and then Medea burst out laughing, clearly not sure how else to react to his bluntness.

  
“I would also like that very much,” she finally answered in a voice that was almost a purr, nuzzling her face against his neck.  
“Decided then.” He nodded once, and clambered back up to his feet, Medea still clinging to his torso.

  
“Grøh if you still need-”

  
“I can carry you,” He promised, kissing her ear lightly. His strength might still be less than he was used to, but it was more than enough to lift her.

  
Though he had not considered the awkward stoop required to get into the tent.

  
She solved it for him by squirming until he put her down, and Medea entered the tent first, her hat instantly being thrown to a corner, hands on the ties and buckles of her clothes, unfastening them rapidly.

  
He stilled her fingers with his, and she looked at him curiously. The height of the tent had them sitting on their knees across from each other.

  
He was not sure how to ask.

  
He decided on simplicity. Words had never been his forte.

  
“May I?” He tugged gently at the buckle in her hand, hoping it conveyed his meaning.

  
She smiled and lowered her hands to her sides. “Of course.”

  
Everything had been… rushed, last time. He had not taken the time to explore her, to learn. She had undressed herself after he had struggled and fumbled and cursed the complexity of women’s clothes.

  
He had enjoyed watching her. Though it seemed more intimate, he thought while his fingers wandered under the hem of her shirt, to undress her himself.

  
That night had largely been based on instinct for Grøh.

He had never given much thought to romance, it had never been a priority. Or even an interest. His experience then had been limited to being aware of the infatuation a couple other members of Aval had developed with him, which he had stopped noticing shortly after meeting Medea for the first time and she had fearlessly stood between him and her malfested friend, Haoran.

He wondered now, thinking back, if something had already stirred in him for her at that first meeting.

  
Grøh had never failed to kill a malfested, but he had left Haoran, simply because he had been intrigued by her and her notion of saving him.

  
Or maybe it had been the compassion for someone most people would have thought a monster. A monster whose sickness Grøh shared.

  
Maybe he had already longed for her to look at him like that, before he had even truly known her.

  
He had never ached for another person the way he did for Medea, had never been so singularly focused on someone.

  
He had never wanted someone so badly that his chest felt like it would burst unless he was able to feel her in his arms, her skin against his, breath warm on his neck, her voice in his ear telling him her desires.

  
He was fairly confident he had done well, based on the way she had moaned beneath him, and the fact that he had been invited back to her bed. Or bed roll, as the case may be.

  
But he wanted to take his time now. To learn her body the way no one else would, to watch her flush in pleasure and cry out his name.

  
This time they had more than a few short hours and a desperate need to be together.

  
The time they had now seemed infinite.

  
Her clothes were still complicated. She offered hints, but seemed to understand his need to do it himself.

  
Goosebumps developed on her shoulders and arms, and he realized that the tent was perhaps too drafty for this slow seduction he was attempting. She grabbed his hand when he thought to hurry, pressing it over her heart where he could feel it flutter.

  
“Not because of the cold,” she said simply, smiling in an in intriguing way. There was a flush forming on her cheeks.

  
It fascinated him. This time he had daylight to better observe her, watch her reactions.

  
Once he had all of her light leather armor unbuckled, it nearly sloughed off of her like melting snow.

  
Medea sat, completely naked, unembarrassed by his long perusal. He wanted every inch of her burned into his memory. Every angle, every curve, every little freckle.

  
There was a wide, crescent-shaped scar above her hip that he did not remember curving onto her back, and his hand was drawn to it instantly, fingers tracking the lines of a wound that had probably been excruciating.

  
“A woman with a strange sword.” Medea explained, her hand falling next to his. “A living sword.”

  
“Living…?” She nodded.

  
“It moved like a snake. Magic I had never seen before. A very hard fight.” Her hand flattened his to her side. The scar was smooth, she was a very skilled healer, but still felt different than her unharmed skin. “She had knowledge of Soul Edge.”

  
In other words, she had picked the fight in her quest to save him. She had told him little of the journey still, only that she had needed to pursue the two soul swords and anyone connected to them. She had this scar because of him.

  
“How long was I the…” he could not bring himself to say “Black Demon” aloud and felt like a coward. He had accepted it, it did not mean she had to. He did not want to bring that name between them, not now. “How long was I gone?” He settled on saying instead.

  
Medea’s eyes grew distant. “Almost a year.”

  
The silence to her answer was almost oppressive. He knew he had lost time. He had not realized how much. Her hand framed his cheek, unflinching at the scar. He marveled again at how easily she touched his left side, despite the poison it carried. The damage it had done, the damage done to him.

  
“I should have come for you sooner.”

  
Grøh shook his head. “Azwel was a threat to all. You made the right choice.”

  
Besides, if she had thought him dead at first, she would have had no reason to look for him. It occurred to him then that she also would have had no reason to be committed to him.

  
Had there been anyone else? If he asked, would she tell him? Better yet, did it truly matter to him?

  
She was here now, with him. That was the important thing.

  
Medea’s legs splayed over his, straddling over his lap with one hand on the back of his neck and one still gently on his face, guiding him to tilt his head up to kiss her.

  
His hands ran over her back, her arms, her legs as they fitted themselves on either side of his hips, relearning the curves, the feel of her.

  
Her tongue touched his lower lip, and she was pulling at his coat like she had forgotten how buttons worked.

  
Hand on her lower back, he tipped her over backwards onto the pile of blankets, his other nearly tearing the fastenings off the coat in his haste to remove the barriers between them.

  
She gasped softly when her back hit the blankets, when he pinned her to them with his weight, cradling his hips to hers between her knees. She pushed the leather off his shoulders, got it down to his elbows, but he had to shake it the rest of the way off when she couldn’t reach any further.

  
“Grøh.” She said his name softly, almost a whisper, pressed kisses to his jaw, his neck, the side of his chest where one of his scars stretched across his shoulder. Her hand wandered down his stomach, and a shudder crept through him, braced on his arms barely an inch over her, his mouth moved to her neck. “I want you,” She said it breathlessly, brushing the words across his ear.

  
He had never heard anything sweeter.

  
She pushed at his pants, but they would not move with his greaves still on. And those were too difficult to remove in the limited space of the tent in their current position.

  
Leaving her when she was so happily wrapped around him felt like a tiny death, but it would only be for a moment. Grøh pulled away and sat, yanking at the remainder of his clothes impatiently. He heard Medea moving behind him, felt her weight against his back, soft and warm, her hands wandering across his chest. She kissed the back of his neck with a little noise of happiness that reminded him of a cat.

  
“You are very distracting,” He said, and knew he had not managed to even pretend to sound stern. She giggled in his ear softly, and he felt her teeth gently on his lobe.

  
“Want me to stop?”

  
“No.” Another giggle. The damned boots were finally gone. “Lay back.”

  
He hoped it had not sounded too much like an order. He had meant it as a request. Agreeably she slipped away from him again, and laid herself among the blankets in a deliberately inviting fashion, one leg propped up, the other stretched so that her foot was near his hand.

  
Medea crooked a finger at him, but for the moment all Grøh could really do was look at her.

  
He was filled with the sudden, completely rational paranoia that this would not last. They could not stay, camped out here in the wilderness, indefinitely. Eventually they were going to have to return to civilization, and civilization, he knew, would be far less accepting of him than Medea. Among them, he would be a monster.

  
Would anyone recognize him as the Black Demon?

  
His fingers traced tiny circles over her shin, traveling up to her knee.

  
_Cling to it while you can_. Zasalamel’s words echoed in his head. 

  
All the moments he had left belonged to her.

  
His hand at her thigh, she shuddered this time. Let out an exhale that sounded almost like a tiny gasp as he slipped between them. He remembered her skin had been the softest there.

  
His memory had not done it justice.

  
He bent over her, placed his mouth where his hand had been, and Medea muffled whatever sound had almost escaped with the back of her hand, her other on his shoulder, nails biting into his skin just a little.

  
He watched her, curious, uncertain if that had been a noise of pleasure or protest. Her chest rose and fell rapidly with her breathing, breasts teasing him with the movement.

  
He could cover one completely in one hand. The nipple pebbled against his palm, and her back arched towards him.

  
That, he knew, was pleasure.

  
“Grøh.” Desperation laced her voice. Need. One of her legs hooked around his waist, and he could feel the heat from her.

_Cling to it while you can._

  
His fingers brushed against her sex, came away wet. She nearly writhed, trying to grind against his hand.

  
What would make her happy? What would please her?

  
“Show me.”

  
She blinked hazy brown eyes at him, looking mildly confused.

  
“Show me what you want.”

  
“You. I want you,” She keened, lifting her hips, her fingers joined his, turned his hand. His fingertips rested at her entrance and Medea pushed at his knuckles. “Inside. Please. Inside.” She was gasping, mouth pressed on his shoulder, his other arm braced beside her.

  
It was like dipping his fingers into honey. Honey that was heated enough to burn his fingers. She tightened around him, cried out, and tossed her head back so fast he worried about her hitting her head.

  
Wetness melted onto his hand.

  
Medea was breathing hard, delicate muscles fluttered around his fingers. He had brought her pleasure, and felt oddly satisfied at the notion.

  
“Medea.” Her hand hand touched his hip, pulled him yet closer until his pelvis rested against hers. The hard length of him against wet heat.

  
“Tch,” He was not sure why he made the noise. A hiss of a breath that he could not keep restrained at the intimate contact. He remembered the way he had come undone in her arms, the way he had lost himself with her, in her, for her.

  
Feeling her like an extension of himself, not sure where he ended and she began, and not caring.

  
His control was feeble, at best.

  
Grøh brushed the hair from her eyes, wanted to look on her face.

  
She had said she wanted to see all of him. She had. And she had not faltered.

  
Did he dare ask the same of her?

  
He need not voice it aloud. Medea looked up at him with hooded eyes, a flush in her cheeks.

  
She smiled.

  
“Beautiful.” He did not know what part of her he meant. It did not matter. All of her.

  
Her hand curled around his manhood, guided, invited.

  
A grunt escaped him, and his hips jutted forward instinctively, burying himself in her to the hilt, both his hands braced by her sides now.

  
“Ah…!”

  
The sound of shock sent panic racing through his veins. Had he been too rough? Too fast? He had thought his malfested strength less, but his control had wavered long enough that he truly feared it to be a sound of pain. He could not look at her, eyes closed, head lowered. Did not want to see fear or pain in her face.

  
Her knees came up around his hips, her entire body coiling, tightening. Her channel squeezed him like a fist wrapped in silk.

  
“Grøh.” His name was a moan from her lips. Not of discomfort, not of distress. “Grøh, look at me.”

  
He did, dread filling him. He did not want to regret in her eyes. Rejection.

  
She met his gaze, breathing hard through her mouth.

  
Ecstasy.

  
It was the only word his mind could formulate.

  
“l only needed a moment. It was not… I have not... since you…”

  
They were half sentences at best, but he understood the meaning. There had been no one else. In all the time he had lost.  
A tightness lodged in his throat that he could not speak around.

  
He did not deserve her.

  
He pressed his face into her neck, his lips to her pulse, felt it pounding with her arousal. He was waiting to be cruelly woken from what he was almost sure was a dream.

  
“Please.” Her voice broke into the fog, her hands skimming along his back. “Grøh, please keep going. I need you. I need-”  
He hurtled back to the moment with a jolt of pleasure up his spine when her hips rocked against his.

  
With a groan he grasped under her knee, lifting it until her leg rested in the crook of his elbow, effectively stopping her from moving. Could she not feel the tremor in his arms braced on either side of her? The stutter in his heart? How little control he had?

  
Did she not realize if she kept doing that he would be undone before he could even attempt to demonstrate his feelings? To prove them to her?

  
The fingers of one hand held tight to the muscle of his shoulder blade, her other hand on the back of his head, wound in his hair. It was just long enough for her to grab a handful, but not painfully. She used the gentle grip to steer his mouth to hers for a searing kiss.

  
Their mouths a tangle of tongues, he moved against her, her keening cry music to his ears even when it was muffled in their kiss. The leg he was not holding captive hooked at the small of his back, tightly enough that he barely had enough leverage to properly thrust his hips. She did not seem to notice, nor mind, her mouth dropped away from his when her back bowed in pleasure, a mix of a rough exhale and a wordless shout bursting from her.

  
He pressed his lips to her throat, over her heart, anything to maintain the connection.

  
She cried out his name, and her body tensed powerfully. The tightness, the pull, he lost himself in her her, vaguely aware of a sound a bit like a growl that escaped him against her shoulder, his teeth sinking in with an attempt to keep the animalistic noise in before he realized what he was doing.

  
If anything, the bite only seemed to draw her climax out, the place where their bodies joined wet with mutual satisfaction.

  
The quiet of the tent was broken only by their breathing as it started to slow, a bird somewhere outside.

  
It occurred to Grøh after a moment of simply laying there with his head tucked against her and his hands under her shoulders that it might be uncomfortable to have someone of his size draped on her like a blanket.

  
He moved a hand to her side, but Medea wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

  
“Mm. Stay.” She nestled her face under his chin. “I just want to… hold you for a bit. Is that alright?”

  
It seemed a silly question, a simple question, considering what had happened moments before, but he was happy to oblige all the same.

  
“As long as you want.” He agreed with a nod she could not see. He did shift them a little though, rolling only slightly to his side so she did not bear all his weight, and so that he could curl an arm around her torso.

  
He had not made time to do this before. To hold her. He had been dressed and gone before her scent had faded from his hands.

  
He had always regretted that. Leaving without even having fallen asleep next to her.

  
Medea shivered and he reached behind her for a blanket. He was used to the cold of this land, but after the heat they had generated, the chill was that much sharper.

  
A bruise was blooming just above her collar bone. A perfect fit to his teeth.

  
Anxiety settled over him. He had not wanted her to hear him, the noise reminded him too much of when the malfestation had been at its peak, when he had been robbed of voice and reason. He had not wanted her to hear anything to remind her of what he had been, but instead he had harmed her.

  
“Forgive me.” His hand covered the mark as if hiding it for the moment would make it go away.

  
“Hm.” She surprised him by smiling and continuing to cuddle against him. “I suspect I owe you an apology as well.”

  
The remark stunned him. “Why?”

  
Her hand brushed over his back around his shoulder, and it was the first time he noticed there was a little bit of a burning sensation. “These. My nails.”

  
If that was all she was worried about, he could happily endure a few scratches. He had not even realized until she pointed them out.

  
“And I pulled your hair.”

  
He let out a breath that sounded very similar to a chuckle. “I barely noticed.”

  
Or rather, he had not at all.

  
“Heat of the moment,” Medea laughed softly. “Nothing to worry over.”

  
Again, her acceptance humbled him. Nevertheless he silently swore to himself that next time he would leave no such mark.

  
Next time.

  
He was already thinking of the future. Imagining being with her like this every day, every night.

  
He could only hope, and he did so fervently.

***

The tent had grown somewhat stuffy, and smelled of sex.

  
He did not find it at all unpleasant, and so had not bothered to open the tent flap and let the outside world in yet.

  
Several hours and multiple couplings after their initial intense union, Grøh had eventually drifted into a sound sleep; his nose buried in Medea’s hair at the nape of her neck, the comforting warmth of her back against his chest soothing him into dreamlessness. His arm had latched around her middle securely with no intent of letting her go unless she asked.

  
They had left the tent once, only long enough for food. He had tried his hand at making tea from the various packets of herbs in her bag, Medea watching him with amusement from where she sat bundled in the wool blanket on the branch that had thus far been serving as a seat.

  
She complimented his attempt, but Grøh knew it rang false; he was well aware it tasted terrible. She sat it aside and drank no more, and he could scarcely blame her.

  
Still, there was something liberating about doing such mundane things together, tea, lunch. More so, he supposed, to be doing them casually naked. They had no longer had any obligations except to each other.

  
The cold quickly drove them back into the tent and the nest of blankets and a tangle of limbs.

  
He had never woken up with another before. Grøh found he rather liked it.

  
He wished he had stayed with her that first night.

  
Had she been angry? Hurt?

  
He was only grateful that if she had been, Medea had forgiven him.

  
At least for his first transgression. He had a whole slough of new ones.

  
He felt like he had not yet earned this, but then… if fate was willing, he had the rest of his life to do so.

  
_I love you._

The words rolled around on his tongue, settled like a weight.  
He had known, a year ago.

  
He had known, but he had not comprehended. Not until it was too late to do anything, to say anything.

  
He had a second chance, he would not waste it.

  
Which probably meant he should at least practice. No need to come off sounding like a fool when he tried to tell her.

  
“I love you.” He whispered the words into her hair, into the dark. Grøh had never said them before, it sounded strange to hear it in his own voice.

  
Medea shifted against him and he froze, worried she might have heard him before he was ready to explain himself. Not that there was anything to explain exactly.

  
They were his feelings, his words. She need not accept them right away. Or ever.

  
He was more than content with what she had already given him.

  
She relaxed after her hand made a quick stroke down his forearm, and she nuzzled her cheek into his bicep. He kissed the back of her neck gently, but did not pull away afterwards.

  
He wanted to memorize this moment, this feeling.

  
If he lost himself again, he would not lose this memory.

  
Medea sighed happily, and he realized he had woken her with the prolonged contact.

  
“Sorry.”

  
“Mm. No, this is nice. I like waking up with you.” Her fingertips were tracing along the arm he had wrapped around her.

  
“I… a year ago. I never should have left you. I should have stayed with you that night. I wanted to, but I…”

  
“You had a mission.” She shrugged one shoulder.

  
“Yes.”

But it had not been about the mission, the fight. It had been him. Emotions he had not understood.

  
Grøh had been overwhelmed, confused.

  
He had not needed to prepare for the fight. He could have lain with her until morning.

  
He had chosen not to, and quietly left her when her breathing had slowed and he had been able to gently slide her head off his shoulder and to the pillow instead.

  
He had feared his judgement clouded. That he had made a ghastly mistake allowing the romance to develop, to actively pursue it. That if he had stayed, fallen any further in love with Medea, he would not have been able to make the choices he would have to when he faced Azwel.

How wrong he had been.

  
His determination had never been so clear cut. His focus never sharper.

  
Keeping Medea safe had always been a priority, because she was essential to stopping Azwel. When they had become involved, it had become almost his singular motivation.

  
He had always accepted his potential fate of becoming malfested, but he had always flinched at the idea of embracing it, using the power if he could avoid it. When her life had been threatened, he gave in completely. Easily. Without a second thought.

  
He had no longer cared if he could be useful to Aval. No longer cared if he lost himself, no longer cared if it destroyed him.

  
Whatever it took to protect her, he would do.

  
He had not expected to survive. He had not cared.

  
He had not expected it to become Medea’s burden to bear.

  
He felt her rolling and realized he had been lost silently in thought for awhile.

  
“What are you thinking about?” Medea asked, propping herself on her elbows to look at him. He stayed on his side, his arm still lazily draped over her waist.“You look serious. Nothing bad, I hope.” Her index finger tapped between his eyebrows gently, and he felt a glare he had not realized he was making loosen.

  
“You.” He answered honestly.

  
“Me? Why?”

  
“To understand you.”

  
“What is there to understand?”

  
“Everything.”

  
Medea’s lips puffed out in a little laugh. “Grøh, you are adorable.”

  
His face heated slightly. He could not remember the last time he blushed. Or that anyone had called him adorable.

  
“What exactly are you talking about?” She questioned then, looking a little more serious. Her finger had started an absent-minded journey across his chest in little swirling patterns.

  
“I do not… understand you. Or what was happening between us until it was too late. And now… you came for me even after… everything I did. I wondered why.”

  
He met her eyes when he spoke, seeking answers. Her eyes did not waver.

  
“Because if you say you love someone, and then abandon them in their darkest moment, it was hollow words.”

  
“You… love me.” He repeated slowly. He was starting to like the way it sounded. “You never said-”

  
She hummed softly. “I thought it obvious.”

  
He supposed he had known. Known and denied. Told himself he could not accept it, not yet.

  
He had wanted to earn it. Wanted to feel worthy of hearing the words, returning them.

  
She gave them to him anyway.

  
She had shown him in a thousand ways, but he was not certain he had believed it until this moment.

  
She smiled when he pounced on her, held her face in his hands, kissed her until he felt lightheaded.

  
“I love you.”

  
Something in her expression changed when he said it. It was subtle, but his world had come to revolve around her, and he noticed.

  
_She had not known._

Grøh felt the thought like a physical blow.

  
All of this, all she had done, and Medea had not even known the true depth of feelings.

  
He was a fool to have waited. He had not wanted to overstep, but she had been waiting, all this time. Hoping.

  
“Grøh…” her eyes welled with tears. He kissed them away. No more tears. Not over him. Never again.

  
“I love you,” He said again, more firmly, giving her no room to doubt him. And he would tell her, he would show her, everyday, for as long as he had left; be it death that took him or the madness again.

 


	2. To the Fates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Couldn’t help myself. Wanted to develop Medea a bit I suppose. I keep thinking I’d like to tell the story of the actual romance, but at this point... maybe I just wanted to write some smut

Breaking down the campsite made Medea feel strangely sad.

She would be grateful to get back to warm rooms, real beds, and probably -definitely- a bath, but in a way she had enjoyed staying here with just Grøh.

They had always been surrounded by people, Aval agents mostly, and they had always been… busy. It was the first time she felt like she had gotten to spend any real quality time with him.

_Quality time._ Medea thought with a hint of amusement. It had, truthfully, mostly been a lot of laying around in the tent together. Grøh had still been recovering, and slept often.

Even so, was more of a relationship than they had really been allowed before. He was still mostly stoic and quiet, but she had never really expected him to look at her all moon-eyed or come up with elaborate declarations -she expected she was moon-eyed enough for them both anyway- it simply was not in Grøh’s nature.

He showed her the way he felt more than he said it. Almost constant, gentle little touches -though he still mostly avoided using his left hand- wanting to sit as closely to her as he could without her ending up in his lap -though he did not seem opposed to that option- and every time he fell asleep, he did so clinging tightly to her.

Mostly they were just… learning to be together in a way that a little unknown to both of them.

“How did you manage to pack all this out here by yourself?” He questioned, once everything had been secured into two over-stuffed bags.

“Dion. He came with me at first. He was disobeying orders by helping me look for you though.”

“Dion always was more loyal to his heart than his head.” He said it sternly, but there was something nostalgic about it.

“He was loyal to you.”

Grøh did not respond directly, instead shouldering the pack he likely deemed heavier. Leaning against the tree behind it rested the two halves of Aerondight. The only reaction he gave was a slight widening of his eyes.

“I thought maybe you would have wanted me to save it. I found both halves but not the piece in the middle that holds them together. I apologize, I think I broke it when we…” she trailed off, noticing Grøh was making an expression that bordered on being hurt.

“I am so sorry, I did try to find the piece but-”

“No. That was not… what I meant.” He waved a dismissive hand, but was eyeing the swords like he did not want to touch them. “I was…”

He trailed off again, and all Medea could do was look at him curiously. She knew him better than most, but he could still be hard to read. It was easier now that he no longer always kept his left eye covered. She tried to interpret his expression, though the difference was slight.

“It was your sword before, too.” He glanced at her and then away again.

“Innocent people died on its blade. _You_ almost died on it.”

“And before that you used it to save a lot of people.”  

“By taking the lives of malfested. I could be saved, perhaps they could have been as well. If I had been as kind as you have been to me.”

“It is possible. But that responsibility falls on me, not you. I could not summon Soul Calibur before. That is… the only cure I know of for now.”

“If it is a mission you ever take up, know that I will follow you.” With a decided nod, Grøh grabbed up the two halves of his sword. He flinched as if expecting it to burn his hand, but then relaxed slightly.

“Or you could walk beside me.”

“Hm.” Something that was almost a smile pulled at his mouth. Someday she would get him to smile, truly smile.

She expected he was quite handsome when he did so.

“Beside you it is.” He moved so that Aerondight was on his opposite side from her, his other hand reaching tentatively for hers.

She grasped his fingers firmly, and they started south on a path that was almost hidden beneath the snow.

“I have been thinking,” Grøh mused after about an hour on the road. His hand had never left hers for more than a few seconds.

“What about, love?” She liked to call him that because every time she did his face brightened a fraction. He probably had yet to realize it, it was a very subtle change, but she liked to see it all the same.

“About what I should do.”

“With what?”

“Myself. These… powers.”

She felt her throat tighten the tiniest margin. He had promised to stay with her, but she knew that Grøh had not been quite himself yet when he made that oath. Even now he probably had not completely recovered his full sense of self. She also knew that his sense of right, his sense of honor, were driving forces for his entire life.

If he wanted to go his own way, right his own wrongs? Would he want to go alone?

“I must find a way to use it for good. The same way you did.” He said it firmly, and Medea knew already he had made a decision. He glanced at her. “Will you let me fight for you? With you? Help you? The rest of the fissures, saving outsiders if you want to… try to save others.”

“Uh…” Medea was, admittedly, so surprised she drew to a halt. That had not been her expectation.

She had expected that he make himself a new mission, to try and bear the weight of redeeming what the Black Demon had done alone.

He stopped a step later, turned to face her.

Though his face betrayed no emotion, something about the way Grøh’s hand tightened around hers made her think he was worried. He feared he was placing too much of the burden on her, asking her for too much?

He looked at the ground.

“You… saw good in people when most would not have. Good in me. I always believed that I was right but perhaps… I was only blind with hatred. And I wanted to… learn. If you had treated me the way I have Outsiders, the way Aval taught me, I would not be here with you. And I want to keep being with you. As your… lover.”

The way he seemed to dread to say the last part, Medea guessed it had not been his original intention to let it slip. She knew the hesitancy was mostly due to the fact that he had never really made a habit of voicing his wants or his needs before.

Come to think of it, she could only remember a few times he had even told her whether he liked something or not.

Medea tugged on his hand a little, but he stayed focused on the ground. She took a step closer, pressed her free hand to his chest for a moment, and kissed his cheek.

A simple gesture, but it did get him to look up at her.

“I told you. I have no plans of asking you to leave, and I have no intention of leaving you.”

It was… a little closer to a smile.

***

 

By the time they finally reached something big enough to be called a town, Medea’s feet ached like her boots had been full of sharp stones.

She was relieved to see the lights, but also a little apprehensive. It would be the first interaction Grøh had with anyone besides her since coming back.

He stopped her while still just outside the first buildings, dragging the visor up from some pocket inside his coat.

It had never occurred to her it had pockets before.

What else did he keep in there.

“I have not seen how I look.” He said, misinterpreting her thoughtful stare. She understood putting the lens back on, but it still made her sad, in a way. “I did not know whether my eye was still…”

“Not all the time.”

His visible eye widened slightly. “But you can see it? And you did not tell me?”

He sounded absolutely incredulous.

“It only shows sometimes. Little flashes. It never bothered me so-”

“When? What makes it flare?” His hand was tight on her shoulder, voice a little stern.

She understood the reaction, he would, after all, need to learn when to hide it, but she had not expected this level of anxiety.

Though Grøh had always hated it more than she did. Had always been more conscious of it.

“Just… when Zasalamel surprised you. It showed a little then. And when you… uh…” she had started the sentence without thinking about it. And now dreaded to finish.

“Medea.” His gaze on her was intense. “Tell me. I need to know.”

“When you uhm… get excited. It… flares up… a bit.”

Medea regretted saying it instantly. Not because it embarrassed her. Not because she was ashamed of things they did. Not because it frightened her.

Because she felt like now that she had told him, Grøh might never touch her again.

His hand on her shoulder grew gentler with a conscious effort.

“I… see.” Grøh said slowly, sounding like his teeth had grit together. “And it does not… bother you?”

“No.” He stared at her, and while his face remained mostly neutral, she could sense the disbelief radiating off of him. “I know that you think it should, but it never really has. I have always known it was… a part of you.”

“A flaw.”

“Not always true. It kept you alive, which is something I am very grateful for.”

He sighed, sounding exasperated. “I still cannot pretend to understand you.”

The hand on her shoulder slid down to hers, squeezing it for a moment.

“People have always been afraid of my kind too. I never saw a reason to fear you for abilities you did not ask for.”

“An odd pair we make,” He pondered aloud.

“But a good pair.”

“A very good pair.” She smiled when he said so. It was rare to hear Grøh approve of much of anything. He had always seemed… a little bitter. A little cold.

She suspected now that it had likely been because he had always felt he was living on borrowed time. That his only expectation was to complete as many missions as possible in the time he had, before eventually succumbing to the corruption and being put down like the tool he had always viewed himself as.

Perhaps now that had changed. For the first time in a long time, his life was his to do with as he willed.

She was glad that he apparently planned to spend a large portion of it with her.

They entered the town proper side-by-side, and while outwardly Grøh appeared calm, she could feel him watching everything that moved intently.

They garnered… many strange looks.

Medea tugged the brim of her hat down, felt him move just a hair closer.

The atmosphere within the inn grew quiet when they entered. She approached the counter, Grøh shadowing her steps.

“Two rooms?” The innkeeper asked, looking at them with judgemental brow furrow. It was mostly focused on her. Medea met the look evenly.

“One,” Grøh said from behind her.

“One room,” She agreed with a nod. “And a bath if you have one.”

Just in case he was thinking of turning them away based on appearance alone, Medea placed coins on the counter that were probably double a room’s worth. He glanced at the money, glanced at her again, eyes went to the sword on her back and then to Grøh, and then swept the coins into his hand.

“Bath is through there, out back.” He thumbed in the direction of a door near the fireplace. “Room is on the third floor. Last door on the left.”

Attic room, it looked like. Trying to keep them as far away from other guests as possible, she guessed. He did not _want_ them to stay, but it was hard to pass up paying customers, especially when they paid well and up front.

“Thank you.” She almost managed to sound genuine.

“You did not have to be kind to him,” Grøh stated as they ascended the stairs.

“No. But returning his malice with more likely would not have gotten us anywhere.” Medea shrugged. “So it cost a little extra, we have a room and a bath, that was all I wanted.”

“Fair point.” He nodded once, but was very clearly shooting a dirty look over his shoulder towards the main room.

“Relax, love.”

“Hmph.” Was all she got in reply, and it made her smile a little.

The room was small and sparsely furnished, but it was decently warmed by the chimney from the main fireplace downstairs in one wall, and the bed looked soft with what smelled like clean sheets. Medea sat her bag down on the sturdy little table and immediately removed her sword from her back, followed by her cloak.

“Bath.” She decided promptly, digging in the bag for soap. She always packed soap.

“I will go… er… may I join you?”

Medea turned to look at him curiously. Grøh looked away, rubbing at the back of his neck.

_How strange._

She had never imagined she would see him look… embarrassed?

_So cute._

That was also a strange thought. Not that he was not cute, but he so rarely behaved in a way that was not cool, calculating, and collected. Grøh had graduated to shifting his weight subtly from one foot to the other, and she realized she had not answered his question.

“Of course you can.”

***

 

Northern baths were… interesting.

When the keeper had said it was out back, Medea had not expected to be using a narrow tunnel to reach it.

“This is old-fashioned,” Grøh spoke from behind her. She noticed he had locked the door into the tunnel, though she was pretty certain it was a public bath. “All the baths were done this way once. They used tunnels so no one had to walk through the snow.”

“Oh,” was all she said for a moment, surprised by the history lesson. It was strange to think of him growing up, stranger still to think it had likely been nearby. What had he been like as a child?

Entering the stone bath house was a bit like stepping out of the tundra and into one of near tropical forests back in India.

Warm and humid, and it eased aches in Medea’s muscles she had not realized she had. Grøh locked this door as well, shrugging when she glanced at him.

“What if someone else needs a bath?”

“They will have to wait,” he said simply, crossing the floor to the massive flagstone tub. “This one is built on top of a hot spring, very old construction.”

“Hot springs?”

“There are quite a few in this area.” He messed with some latches, and water bubbled out of a spigot near the bath. “You first.”

“Thank you.” She smiled, so, so glad to see steam curling up from the water.

Happily she stripped and stepped into the water. Sighing in complete contentment as she sank down on a little stone bench at the edge and hot water was already above her waist. Her eyes drifted closed in pure bliss, only to crack open again at a splash.

Her eyes widened fully when, rather to her surprise, Grøh was halfway into the tub as well. He paused, one leg in, one leg out, likely trying to gauge her reaction.

“It is not the first time you have seen me naked,” he observed bluntly.

She laughed quietly. “Of course not. Just… different context I guess. It surprised me.”

“I see.” He seemed unduly thoughtful over her words, but finished getting in, sitting opposite her. “It is not uncommon for people to bathe together where I come from. Although… men and women usually would not when they are… unmarried.”

“Oh, like an onsen!” She did not fully realize he was halfway across the tub to her until she abruptly found herself between his knees, her back against his chest. While it surprised her a little, it was certainly not unwelcome.

“Onsen?” She felt his fingers in her hair, combing through gently. Twisting strands around his index finger in an absent-minded way, though she had never kept it very long.

At first Medea had thought his request that he go with her had been because he had not wanted to be seperated even long enough for her to take a bath. Now she realized it been more because he had wanted the opportunity to dote.

Grøh had never really been outwardly affectionate with her, which Medea had understood to a point. Since he was not affectionate towards anyone else, or even friendly most of the the time, it had not bothered her. And eventually, everything had spilled out of him that first night they were together, so she had been satisfied with his standoffishness even when she had longed for little moments like the one she had now.

No sense in letting it go to waste then, and Medea leaned happily into his ministrations.

“In Japan they also have hot springs and large baths. Mitsurugi told me about them, he thought the way we bathe over here very strange. He probably would have found this more familiar.”

Silence for a moment.

“Tilt your head back.”

“Hm?” She did as asked, though curious, and Grøh dumped handfuls of water over her hair until it was soaked through, reaching for the soap she had always found the time to make herself where it sat on the edge of the tub next to her hat.

It made her smile. Such a simple thing like washing her hair, but somehow it was special to her. The careful way he did it, with a strange kind of focus, the gentleness of his fingers on her scalp. She enjoyed the attention thoroughly.

“Who is Mitsurugi?” He asked suddenly, the circular motions of his fingertips in her hair not even breaking their pattern.

“Oh, you would have missed meeting him. We traveled together a couple of times. To Yangguang and then with Natalie for awhile when you were on your other mission. He is what they call a Samurai from Japan. He was a bit odd, but truly an impressive warrior.”

“Hn.” Medea tried to turn a little to glance at him, but Grøh’s hands were firm on her head. She had gotten better at translating his monosyllables, but she could not identify the tone on that one. “And you… like him?”

“He was a good friend. And a fun travel companion.”

“I see.” That seemed to be his new favorite phrase.

Grøh dumped more water over her head, rinsing her hair, but she could not help but feel it seemed a little aggressive.

It took her all of two seconds to figure out what exactly had him so tense.

“Grøh are you… jealous?”

He stilled completely.

“Yes,” He said after a long pause.

“I never went to onsen with him or anything like that. I only meant we had talked about the differences and-”

He shushed her, combing her hair with his fingers, running them lightly down her neck.

“It was only that you talk of him so fondly. And I realized how much of your journey I missed. How much time I could have had with you.” His finger was gently tracing a shape on the back of her shoulder. “This scar. I do not remember this one either.”

“Just a berserker. I… actually have no idea when I got that one.” His lips landed on the scar instead. “Mitsurugi is a friend. You are much more than that.”

“I did not mean to imply-

“I… know. I just want to tell you everything. I never want you to feel like I have anything to hide from you, Grøh. And I missed you, whenever you left. I enjoyed traveling with Mitsurugi, but I would have preferred to be with you.”

“Even… then?”

“Even then. There was… I have never found the words for it. But there was always a pull I felt towards you.” She tilted her head back to smile at him. He was looking at something in the corner. Or nothing. She reached up and lightly tugged a lock of his pale hair that was hanging over his eye. “Let me get your hair too.”

“If you want,” The look he gave her was tender, and again, dangerously close to a serene smile. They swapped positions, but since he was a bit taller than her, he slid off the bench to the bottom of the tub.

“I only have one kind of soap,” Medea realized aloud suddenly. Soap made with her favorite scent of roses.

“I like it,” He said simply. “And then it will be like always having you with me.”

Medea’s heart squeezed hard enough that a little sigh of sentiment escaped her. The soap hit the water with a thunk, her arms going tight around his neck, burying her face in hair that really honestly did need to be washed.

“I love you.”

His hand gripped the back of her neck lightly. “And I love you.”

It was just so… nice to be able to say that to him, after all this time. And it was like a dream to hear in him reply in kind.

She had known for ages that she loved him. Had felt it growing around her heart like ivy nearly as long as she had known him. Something in her had always been drawn to him, some need to put the broken pieces back together no matter how many times he would stubbornly break them again.

He had only seen the monster, for years and years. She had only seen the man trapped inside. But it was more than that. He was both, a delicate balance, two halves that had been at war too long.

Without the monster, Grøh would die, and without him, there would be only mindless killing. Either way, it led to death.

She was no sage like Zasalamel, but she was skilled enough in her own forms of magic. She knew that if the balance ever tipped again, she ran the risk of losing Grøh forever.

She would do whatever she could to prevent it. To keep him safe.

She lost track of time, how long they stayed like that. It was only when he commented that the water was starting to cool off that she started to look for the soap. It had already mostly dissolved.

A mostly wasted bar.

_Easily replaced._ Medea thought. The moment they had shared, less easily.

She used the last of it to clean up his hair. It had gotten very tangled, and it took her awhile to work out the knots. He never protested, even when she felt like she must be hurting him.

When all she was doing was absently combing her fingers through Grøh’s hair, he moved back up onto the bench with her, draping his arm around her shoulders. He was right, the water was getting cold.

But since neither of them seemed ready to leave, Medea decided it was time to remedy it.

She raised her fingers out of the water, drumming them on the surface, little tendrils of flames fizzling from her hands.

The little flames danced on the water, diving down, until it was pleasantly warm again.

“You practiced.”

“Healing potions, sadly, do not come in very handy in a fight. I met a man, Geralt, he called himself a witcher. The way he fought… it was impressive. I have been trying to imitate it. I could always use fire and ice and paralyzing spells, but for… campfires and broken bones, I never had a reason to use them in a fight.”

“You want to be a witcher instead of a witch?” Grøh asked.

“Hm. Maybe.” She traced circles on his hand dangling by her shoulder. The right hand was much less scarred than the left, but had not escaped the numerous battles he fought unscathed. She glanced to where his other arm was resting on the edge of the tub.

“What is it?” He had caught her looking, and dropped his arm under the water.

“May I?” She gestured to his shoulder. While he occasionally, reluctantly, acted as if the arm was normal, he mostly obsessively kept it tucked to his side.

“You know what they look like.”

“I do. But you never let me… look.” She shrugged. After all, she had been a healer before all this, perhaps she could find some way to help him? “Only if you want to. I would never ask for anything that you do n-”

His left palm was raised to eye-level. The inside of his wrist bore one of the criss-crossed scars that dotted him all the way up to his neck and down his side. She curled her hand over the back of his, examining the scar.

“Are they all from Azwel?”

“No.” His other hand tapped his chest near his shoulder and then the left side of his face. “I was injured. These two were from the battle with Nightmare.”

_Two out of… more than a dozen. How long did Azwel experiment on him?_

“Does it… hurt?”

“No. The scars no longer hurt.”

“What about the… rest of it? The malfestation and the… power.” She had always assumed it did, but he never truly showed it. He almost never showed pain.

“Hurt? Not… exactly. It feels more like… a fever. A fever that never goes away, always hangs hazy in the back of my mind. It… hurts when I lose control. Like the scars are on fire. Like claws in my head.”

It was strange to hear Grøh be so open.

His face had darkened considerably, and he seemed to be looking at something far away. It was not something he talked about easily. She held his hand tighter, reminded him when and where he was, and he glanced at her.

Whatever storm had been brewing in his eyes was tucked away, hidden from her. Medea had already promised to be by his side still when he was finally ready to share that burden.

“Thank you.” She smiled at him, he gave her a mildly baffled look. “For trusting me. Telling me.”

“Why did you want to know?”

“It helps me understand you. Ways I could help you maybe.” He looked at their joined hands, thoughtfully.

“I plan on having a new gauntlet made.”

“To hide it?”

“To control it.”

“Do you… feel like you need it?” To Medea, he had seemed to be in even better control now. Able to maintain a stable state at their camp for several days without the gauntlet. She had no way of knowing the inner struggle though, of course.

“I feel it… would be unwise to not wear one. Just to be safe.” He glanced at her briefly. “Though I do not know who would possess the knowledge besides Aval.”

“I met a fantastic Smith in my travels. Bolta. I bet she could help.”

He made a little humming noise that Medea was beginning to understand was the equivalent of Grøh laughing.

“You amaze me.”

“That uh…”

“You do,” he insisted. “Truly. No matter what struggle I face, it seems you are always there with an answer.”

“I expect to run out of them eventually.”

“Then you and I shall just have to go find more.”

Medea smiled, tilted her her head up, and he instantly knew it was asking for a kiss.

She was happy. Because the way he had worded that sounded like there was a long future of being together ahead for her to look forward to.

When they finally left the bath after also cleaning their clothes up a little, they found the innkeeper standing by the door, tapping his foot impatiently. An unsettling stare from Grøh stopped him from voicing his opinion. Medea had to press a hand to her mouth to keep the chuckle in.

Admittedly she had been intimidated by Grøh at first too; he left a rather striking first impression. She had probably also found him a little attractive though, even then.

She had always liked a good mystery.

Safely tucked back in their room, Medea practically fell into the bed facedown, happily cuddling her face into a feather pillow. The mattress sank a little when Grøh sat on the edge near her, and she rolled towards the wall onto her side to look up at him.

“Hm?” She hummed at him,

“Your smith friend. Do you want to go there first?”

“It would make the most sense. If you would feel more comfortable with a gauntlet we should probably make that a priority. She could probably fix Aerondight too, if you wanted.” Medea reached up to his face, lightly taking hold of the visor, tugging it away and setting it on the tiny table by the bed that held a single candle.

“Red?”

“No.” She cupped his cheek, wondering if Grøh would always be worrying about that now. He leaned into her hand lightly. “Your eyes are a very lovely, pale shade of blue, you know. Like ice reflecting moonlight.”

He made a scoff that somehow sounded affectionate. “Very poetic.”

“And true.”

“If you say so.” He closed his eyes briefly. “I did not intend to make you worry. If you wish to go somewhere else-”

“You seem to always be worried about what I want. Have you thought about what _you_ want, Grøh?”

“To stay with you.” He said it with a blunt, simple kind of honesty that made it hard to even imagine he did not mean it completely. “For now, that is all I want.”

Medea sighed softly, sentimentally, and opened her arms to him. Grøh happily climbed the rest of the way into the bed with her, nuzzling his face into her chest. Her fingers wandered through his hair, much softer now that it had been washed.

Though they had slept together like this all three nights at the camp, having only one tent had sort of necessitated the intimacy. She had almost expected it to lessen once it was no longer technically an obligation, especially with how distant Grøh had always seemed for most of the time she had known him. She had been a little surprised that he had been the one to declare they would share a room, and it made her glad to see how easily he had apparently adjusted to sleeping arrangements that involved snuggling.

“That would make me very happy,” she assured him, ducking her head to kiss his temple. “It will be a long journey to Kashgar, rest up, love.”

***

 

They laid in bed most of the afternoon, tired from traveling, and when Grøh drifted off to sleep, Medea sneaked away to get something for dinner that was not foraged.

It occurred to her that she had almost never seen him sleep when they had first come to know each other. No matter what time of day or night, he always seemed to be up and active. Was this because he was more relaxed now, or was he still recovering?

He was so cute when he slept. Maybe because he always seemed to be frowning when he was awake, and when he finally fell to slumber he appeared so… serene.

She wondered what he dreamed about. In general she knew they were closer to nightmares. He never mentioned them, but she had felt him jerking awake on several occasions the last few nights, breathing roughly, his heart rate higher than normal. Sometimes he reached for her, would tuck his forehead against her, his mouth pressed on her skin in a lingering kiss. And sometimes he would leave entirely.

He was always with her again by morning, and did not seem aware that he had woken her. She did not ask. She knew, or perhaps merely hoped, that Grøh would tell her in time.

Still, enough watching him sleep. It was time for a decent meal.

Medea headed down to the main room of the inn, which was starting to bustle a great deal as more and more people arrived for their evening meal. She got a few odd looks, mostly, she suspected, because it was readily apparent she was not a native to the town. It was the kind of place where people grew up together, and no one recognized her.

That was fine by Medea, they would likely be gone by noon tomorrow anyway.

She ordered wine and something referred to by the innkeeper’s wife as “egg pie” as well as some form of cake. Grøh had never seemed one for indulgent meals, but he also had not really seemed to enjoy… life. There was so much more to it than missions and training and hunting traitors.

She wanted to show it all to him.

Medea sipped at a cup of sweet wine while she waited for the food, and ended up purchasing the entire jug. One thing about being the savior of humanity, you either ended up being a pauper, or being rich. She, thankfully, had accomplished the latter, thanks mostly to Aval she imagined. The money would run out soon enough, but for the moment, she wanted to celebrate.

Celebrate being alive. Celebrate that Grøh was returned to her. Celebrate that they may even have future.

A child’s cough drew her attention away from her admitted daydreaming. The wet kind of cough that spoke of infection. She turned, seeking the source, and noted a couple huddled near the fire with their daughter; a small waif of a girl. She appeared to be around nine or ten, but small for her age. Boney. Sickly.

Medea had seen it before. The kind of cough that lasted for weeks with no other outward symptoms save the weight loss.

She had never had much luck with offering people her cures, most often they sought her out only when it was too late.

But she was only a child.

Another gulp of wine, and Medea left her seat, heading for the small family. She knelt beside the child, smiling mostly at the mother, who was hugging her daughter close. The father was even more hesitant, watching her judgmentally around his mug of beer.

“If I may… I could not help but notice your child is… ill. May I?”

“Oh uh… sure…” The mother seemed hesitant, but also seemed grateful for the fact someone else noticed the child’s obvious discomfort.

“What are your names?” Medea asked, still smiling, her fingers expertly pressing on the child’s neck and back lightly. The sickness had already spread, the child’s shoulder and legs stiff from the soreness. Her heartbeat was thready, the tiny muscle working too hard. The infection had spread too far. Medea was not certain anything but blatant magic could truly cure the child.

“Siggy… lady.” It was clear by the hesitation that Siggy was not certain she should actually refer to Medea as a lady. “This is Runa.” She gestured to her daughter.

“Runa? That’s a pretty name. Mine is Medea.” She pressed the child’s hand gently. “Runa, how long have you had this cough?”

“Harvest.”

_Almost a month._ Medea thought, feeling dread coil in her chest. Too long. Herbs and potions would not be be enough to save poor Runa now. Could she risk true magic in a place like this?

She could almost hear Grøh scolding her for even thinking it.

She had to at least try.

“I have… a little experience as a healer-”

“Yer a witch.” The father spoke for the first time, and he had the usual look of mistrust and disgust.

“If you like.” Medea shrugged. “The point is I think I could help. If you would like me to.” She said this mostly to Siggy.

So subtly the drunk husband likely did not notice, Siggy nodded. Medea gave her own gentle nod in return, and with a last smile at Runa, headed immediately back to the room.

Grøh was awake and seemed mildly distressed that he had woken up alone.

“Sorry, love.” She pressed a quick kiss to his forehead and moved to her pack, the herbal kit within.

“Is something wrong?” He asked, obviously sensing her nervous energy.

“A child. An infection. It may have already spread too far for me to cure without some kind of spell. A serious one.”

“If you use any magic they will-”

“I know. But I… she is only a girl.” Medea sighed heavily, herbs already packed into a tiny jar. Thyme and sage and dried elderberries, some willow bark… it could not do much for Runa now except ease her suffering. Was it enough?

Medea could summon Soul Calibur, the sword of salvation, but such small things as this? It was useless.

And anything she could do without the sword was considered devil’s work. 

“What do I… do?” She asked, not really expecting an answer.

Grøh set his hand gently on her shoulder. “What you think is right. As always. Whatever comes of that, I am at your side.”

“I have to help her.”

“I know.” Grøh kissed her temple. “Call if you need me.”

She clutched his wrist for a moment, taking strength from his surety. Always. He had always been there for her. “Thank you.”

He followed her only to the top of the stairs, knowing that realistically this was Medea’s field of expertise. And probably not wanting to intimidate someone she was trying to help. It was still comforting to know he was only a few seconds away.

She brought the jar to Siggy, offered it freely.

“It will help with the cough.” She said simply. Siggy reached for it. Her husband slapped it out of Medea’s hands so viciously that her knuckles stung.

“Don’ need _yer_ kinda help,” he snarled, glaring at her levelly.

“I only-”

“Don’ need it.” He snapped again, and when Medea looked to Siggy, the woman cringed away. Even if she could help… they were too afraid of being seen as outsiders. Medea sighed, looked at Siggy levelly.

“It will ease her pain. That is all I can offer.”

“Wait-”

“Don’t talk to her!” The husband cut her off before Siggy could finish. Medea sighed again.

She could not force someone to accept her aid.

Grøh was still waiting at the top of the stairs when she slowly ascended them. Rather than step aside, when she reached the landing he swept her up in to his arms.

“You tried. That is more than most would have done.” She rested her chin in his shoulder.

“People used to trust druids and witches and what have you. Now they all seem convinced we worship the devil.”

“Because they are idiots,” Grøh said simply.

“Still. I feel bad about the… girl.” Medea sighed again, but knew that if she mourned every person she could not help, she would never stop. “Oh, I forgot to grab the food-”

“I can get it.” He said it firmly enough that she did not bother to argue. And frankly, she was less than interested in facing a room full of people who had just witnessed the little scene between herself and the family.

Grøh let her go and nudged her towards their room. He glanced at her hand as his own trailed down her arm, and Medea realized her knuckles were a little red.

“He _hit_ you?” He shifted to looking murderous in an instant, and she saw a flicker of red in his left eye.

“Grøh. Leave him be. Other things have hurt worse.”

“He should lose his hand.”

Medea would have laughed except she knew that with Grøh it might not be just an idle, baseless threat.

“Love. Calm down. It was only ignorance.” She touched his hand lightly. “People can be… ignorant.”

Grøh made a wordless grumble in response, but the red faded from his eye. “You only tried to help.”

“I know. Sadly this likely will not be the last time trying to help ends this way.”

“Hmph.” He turned back to the stairs. “Fine. He can keep his hand.”

She did laugh a little that time. “Thank you, love.”

He nodded and disappeared downstairs, returning moments later with a tray.

They ate in bed because they could, and she fell asleep, slightly drunk, with his mouth pressed tenderly against the knuckles that still ached a bit.

***

 

They spent the morning resupplying the packs; since they no longer had to be stuffed full of blankets. Food, water, spare clothes for Grøh, and Medea spent a great deal of time in the herb and spice stall in the market, restocking her medical kit.

Grøh had recovered incredibly fast from the fight, the malnourishment, the exhaustion, and the cold, but even so, she wanted to be prepared for anything.

She felt eyes on her the entire time, eyes that were not Grøh’s watchful gaze.

“Love?”

“I see them. A group from the inn last night. Do not fear, they will not come near you.”

Medea sighed. By that she was sure he meant that he intended to rip their arms off if they tried.

“It’s alright. Leave them be.”

Last time she offered to help a stranger.

Medea rolled her eyes even as she thought it, knowing it would not be a promise she could keep to herself.

The general populace had always been distrusting of people like her, healers who relied on things besides prayer, but it had gotten substantially worse in the last few years. Rumors of burnings had started to be whispered among magic practitioners. She doubted these men would be brave enough to actually do anything, and likely just wanted to hurl insults and attempt to intimidate her.

She especially doubted they would do anything with Grøh hovering so close.

Nevertheless she felt them follow them to their last stop, a stable to arrange for horses.

“Witch!”

The first taunt was shouted just loud enough for the surrounding crowd to hear, though Medea figured it was likely obvious.

Once upon a time, it would have made Medea cringe. She would have been afraid.

Now it was little more than useless words. Small-minded men in a small town. Once upon a time, she had not known how to wield a sword. She had not conquered enemies far more terrifying than bigots.

When the first garnered no reaction, a particularly brave member of the group approached her. She recognized Runa’s father among the miscreants.

“Witch,” He hissed again. He sounded a little drunk. She supposed that was the only reason he was so brave.

She had moved on to being annoyed.

“Is truly it wise to harass someone you think can curse you?” She flicked a finger at him, and let it spark with just enough magic to be obvious. It had the desired effect, and he jumped back as if she had launched a fireball at his face.

Sadly, it only lasted until his friends bolstered him with shouts and taunts, taking up a chant of the word “witch”.

Medea bit her tongue and glanced at Grøh, who was visibly grinding his teeth.

“Let’s just… go.” She shook her head at him, not in the mood to start a riot. These men probably deserved a beating, but she also did not want to draw more attention to herself or Grøh. When she turned to leave, he was close at her side.

“Hey! Witch! I’m talkin’ to ya!” The first man’s hand landed on her shoulder, only to vanish a moment later.

Grøh had been bristling and yet patiently abiding her request not to assault them, but touching her was where he evidently drew the line.

He moved like lightning, between her and the stranger in a blink, and by a handful of his tunic, the drunk was hauled off his feet and thrown back to the ground, landing supine with a painful sounding thud.

Grøh knelt, pinning the man with his fist in the center of his chest. It might not look like much, but Medea knew Grøh could easily put enough pressure on him to break his ribs.

“You touch Medea, you die.” His voice was a low, dangerous growl. The only response he got was a choking noise, and his glare turned menacing, putting a little more weight into his pin.

“Grøh!” It had all happened almost before Medea had completely turned around. She ducked and wrapped both hands around the arm he was using to hold the man down, but he was immovable. “It’s not worth it, he is _not_ worth it. Let him go, love. Let him go.”

With a snarly grumble, Grøh obeyed and backed off, but she could feel the tension in his arm. The drunk wheezed painfully.

“The… the hell are you?”

“Shut up,” Medea snapped, pulling Grøh a step away in case he was thinking of kicking him. “Has your mouth not already gotten you enough trouble?”

“Some kinda monster-” the man was escalating into a hysteric sort of wailing. It was definitely time to go.

“Come on.” Medea wrapped her fingers firmly around Grøh’s wrist and marched them to the stable where their horses waited. Silently and efficiently, they departed.

The man Grøh had thrown shouted after them the until they disappeared into the surrounding forest.

The silence stayed heavy until they made it to the next town, and secured another inn.

Even when they had settled into the room and Medea had started making herself tea in the little fireplace, Grøh remained quietly lost in thought, sitting in the chair by the table.

“I… apologize,” he said softly at length.

She sighed. “No. I should. I should never have risen to his baiting.”

“I… I would have snapped his neck, if you had not stopped me. I wanted to.” He looked uncomfortable at the notion. Medea contemplated it. While Grøh was ever merciless when dealing with outsiders and could be aggressive at times, he was not… vicious. He was efficient, well-trained, and preferred to end things quickly and neatly.

The reaction had been extreme, violent, and he recognized that fact.

“You stayed in control.”

“Only because you stopped me.”

“So I will stop you next time too.” Medea shrugged.

“Still I am… sorry you had to see me like that.”

“You were only trying to protect me. I know that.” Medea crossed the floor to him, placed a hand gently on the back of his neck. He would not meet her eyes, and he seemed hesitant to remove the visor now. “It will take time. Things are different than they were before, you changed. _We_ have changed. And we will work through it together. Find your balance again.”

He sat a hand on her hip, just… leaving it there for a moment.

“It may not seem like it right now, but everything will be alright, love. We can do this. I am here for you, always.”

A long pause. “Thank you.”

The kettle over the fire began to bubble, and it was the only reason she stepped away. She returned with tea for both of them, and settled on Grøh’s lap instead. He finally looked up, his visible eye blinking in apparent surprise. She stuck a finger under the visor and tugged it off, placing it on the table behind her.

“Better.” She sipped her tea and wrapped her free arm around his shoulders, resting her head against his. “You worry too much Grøh.”

“Hm. Perhaps you do not worry enough.” But his hand settled on her back gently anyway.

***

 

He really was… lovely, in a way.

Scarred as he was, broken as he was, Grøh was still somehow beautiful. Or maybe it was because of all he had survived, all he had endured, that made her see him in that light.

Medea did not care. She loved him, perfect or imperfect as he was.

She had never been in love before. He had her whole heart, all of her.

Her hand wandered across the inches between them in the bed, fingertips trailing along his mouth which seemed stuck in a broody frown lately, down the scars on his left eye. He had wanted to put the visor back on, partially out of habit, partially because he was… distressed over openly exposing his affliction.

She had gently dissuaded him. He did not have to hide it from her, no matter how much he might think he did.

_It looks… like it had hurt._ She thought absently. The scars were dark, deep, he was probably lucky he had not lost the eye entirely. How much pain had Grøh been made to suffer through alone?

And yet he could still be so gentle. He could still be so caring. He could still hold her so delicately and tenderly. Azwel had almost broken him, and instead had forged him into something stronger. Something beautiful.

“What are you doing?” She had not meant to wake him. He grasped her wrist slightly, pulled her hand to his lips to kiss her fingertips. He kept his eyes closed, his cheek pressed into the pillow.

“Looking at you.” She answered honestly.

“Why?”

“Because I like to.” She touched his scars again, and Grøh pulled away sightly, just enough to notice. “You still hate them?” She asked softly.

It was not really a question. She knew the answer.

“Yes.” His eyes opened only a little, gaze directed downward. Her hand did not leave the scarred side of his face.

She leaned in, kissed beside her thumb. He sighed, and she was not sure of the emotion behind it.

“I love them as a part of you.” Medea propped herself up on her elbow slightly, and his eyes drifted closed again. Her lips found the one on his neck next. “You do not have to, but I will.”

Grøh made a soft noise that she could not decide the meaning of, but she liked it. Part sigh, part groan, and he tilted his head back, letting her have his throat.

Her leg slid over his waist, straddling him, Grøh’s hands on her hips.

“Medea.”

She nibbled against his neck, and he made the same sound. She loved that noise. Her tongue traced the scar on his neck, the one on his shoulder.

She loved his scars. Loved every part of him.

He had handfuls of her night shirt, bunching it around her hips. She wore it more out of habit than any sense of propriety. In contrast, Grøh always slept wonderfully, deliciously naked against her.

“Medea,” He said again, his voice sounded tortured. “Wait-”

“Do you want me to stop?” She was a bit confused, but if he wished it she would cease. Although the feeling of his erection against her rear told her that at the very least it was not that he was uninterested.

“No, please do not.” He let got of her clothes to hold her face in his hands, kissed her in a way that bordered on being too hard. His teeth sank into her lower lip ever-so-slightly, and then he turned his head so suddenly he practically jerked away from her. Medea sat back enough to look at him, trying to discern the reason behind his back-and-forth actions.

“Grøh?” He was breathing harder than normal, she could feel his breath shudder in his abdomen beneath her. “Talk to me, love. Help me understand what you need.”

He looked up at her with something that distinctly resembled regret in his eyes. “My strength has returned.”

“You recovered completely then? This is good news.” Though she was not entirely certain why he wanted to discuss it right now, nor why it had him looking like he was being dragged across hot coals. Her index finger traced the outline of his shoulder muscle, down the ridges in his chest and stomach. So many years of training… it was like he was carved from stone. She might have thought he was if he had not been so warm, and she did not see goosebumps trailing her touch on his skin.

“All of it, Medea. The malfestated part of it. I do not  know if I can control it.”

_Ah._

“You could control it before”

“I had not given in to it once before then. If I hurt you… I do not want to hurt you.”

“I know. I trust you.”

“But I-”

She quieted his protest with a firm kiss. “We can start like this.” She gestured between them, indicating their current position. “This way I can control the pace. Would that be… alright?” She realized suddenly how little of Grøh’s preferences she really knew.

“Yes.” His voice sounded rough, like it might be on the verge of failing him. Medea smiled, her thumb running along his lip again. She could feel a hint of swelling in her own lower lip, likely from when he had bitten her; though she knew he had still tried to be gentle and just had not been able to help it.

His hands were wound into her shirt again, grip so tight she could hear the fabric straining. She grasped the hem beside his hands and pulled the cotton up and over her head, leaned down to press her lips to his, a mischievous little smirk making its way to her mouth.

“Want me to ride you?” He groaned low in his throat, his grip on her hips tight, powerful. She would not be able to move away even if she had wanted to. He really was very, very strong. “That is not an answer, my love. Do you want me to ride you?”

“Please. Medea, please.” His hold on her tightened just a little more, enough that she definitely felt it. Perhaps it was best not to tease him much more. Not to mention she was fairly aroused herself, she did not have the patience to tease him, she wanted Grøh too badly to wait.

She pushed at his ironclad grip a couple of times before he understood he was stopping her from moving, and his hands slid to rest on her thighs instead. She lifted her hips, adjusted her position above him, and reached between their bodies to get him at the right angle before sinking down with a hissing gasp.

_So full._

It felt amazing. He felt amazing inside her. She had sort of expected to get used to the feeling, but perhaps there was no getting used to it. Her body clenched, and she felt Grøh buck a little beneath her, before consciously going as still as he could again a moment later.

“Feels good,” she encouraged gently, her hand in the middle of his chest, trying to find some sort of stability when she felt so fogged over and hazy. His right hand slid up her body, cupped her breast, thumb circling the nipple.

Her breath was shortening into quick gasps, and Medea knew it was not likely going to take much to send her over the edge.

She rocked her hips, lifting just a little onto her knees, feeling him slide all the way back to the hilt when she settled down again. His hands twitched against her, his right traveling a little further up, probably intending to brush her face.

Medea turned her head, caught his thumb between her teeth, and bit down just a little, her tongue circling the pad. It was spontaneous, more than anything, a curious need to taste his skin.

Grøh audibly groaned, and she felt him shiver when she put a little more pressure down, sucked the digit deeper into her mouth.

He apparently liked when she was forward.

Both her hands were flat on his chest, and despite her best efforts to find a rhythm, Medea was very quickly losing all sense of coherence. She bobbed wildly, an extended moan falling from her mouth, her fingers digging into Grøh’s skin, trying to find some sort of balance that simply was not there.

His hips pushed up against her, and Medea felt that perhaps she was going to break in half for a moment. She went taut, wound like a spring, the edges of her vision blurring. She saw nothing but him, felt nothing but how deep inside he fit, his ragged breathing and his pounding heart under her hands.

She saw gray. Felt tension that had been building shatter into bliss.

She heard him issue a sound that was nearly a growl, shoving himself up into a sitting position with his elbow, and Grøh’s arms were tight around her back, almost bruising force. Heat spilled inside her, Grøh’s hand on the back of her head, pressing her to him, his other flat on her lower back.

Her arms felt like jelly when she wrapped them around his neck. He was breathing hard against her shoulder. His knees had come up behind her back, and she enjoyed the warmth of having him cocooned around her the way he was.

“There, see? All is well.” She practically purred, biting gently into the long tendon that ran up the side of his neck.

“You are… unhurt?” He asked, sounding hesitant.

“Of course I am.” She kissed where she had just bitten. “Everything is fine. Better.” Medea gave him enough of a nudge to let her lean back, but they did not separate. She was not quite ready to give up the intimate contact. “You?”

“Fine.” He looked away.

“Grøh.” She pet his hair with one hand, and with her other gently steered his face back to hers. “You stayed in control?”

“Yes. But…”

“But…?” He did not answer, and Medea knew that there were simply some things she could not help him with. There were some parts of himself that Grøh was going to have to learn to accept and deal with in his own way, at his own pace. She would be there to help however she could, and for now, settled for the encouragement of kissing him gently.

He sighed, but met her gaze with a gentle look of his own. “You were incredible.”

“Oh.” She honestly had not been expecting the compliment, and felt a flush creeping up to her cheeks. It seemed silly to blush when she was currently sitting naked astride his lap, but it was such a genuine, honest statement that she could not help it.

He made his little hum that was almost a laugh. “Perhaps you should always be on top. You seemed to enjoy that very much.”

“Perhaps I should!” She returned with a laugh, shoving his shoulder lightly. While she sensed that part of it was teasing, he was also partly serious.

If giving her the reins, so to speak, for sex let him relax enough to enjoy it until he felt he was fully in control of himself she was happy to oblige his needs.

And truly, she had found it… a little exciting. Grøh had always been a very mindful lover, but he was not her first. None had ever let her remain the dominant partner like that before.

It seemed… strange in a way. That he would so easily relinquish control to her when he battled so much to maintain it over himself. She realized then that his own needs had not mattered to him.

It had been for her. It was always all for her.

“What is it?”

“Hm?”

“Your smile. It seems sad.”

“Oh, sorry. I was just… it is nothing. I was not sad, just… never mind. Just happy to finally be together.”

His thumb brushed her cheekbone. “I want you to always be happy.”

Medea suspected she would be, for the foreseeable future. She had him back, their feelings were out in the open, growing and developing, and even though he still struggled with parts of the malfestation, Grøh seemed to have largely accepted it. Or at least, it no longer seemed to constantly torment him.

Admittedly, she did not have a long term plan. It bothered her less than it might have a few years ago.

_One day at a time._

Grøh leaned, settling back into the pillow with Medea held tight to his chest. He hardly seemed to notice her weight. She happily cuddled against him, nearly purred when his hand gently traveled up and down her back.

“I used to wish…” he started suddenly, quietly, and then immediately let it trail off again.

“Wish what?” She questioned, tilting her head to look up at him. Grøh was looking at the wall.

“When you used to have nightmares from the fissures, I found myself wishing I could comfort you afterwards, somehow. I thought about… holding you, like this. Imagined having you fall asleep in my arms, so that if you had a nightmare I would be there to tell you that it was just a dream, that you were safe with me.” He glanced down at her, and then away again. “That was when I knew I had grown too attached to you. I had never… wanted anything like that before. I should have told my superiors, let them separate us. I never did. I told myself it was because I could trust no one else with your safety, but really I was just… being selfish. I wanted to be with you.”

Medea listened silently, processing. She wondered how long Grøh had felt that way, how long he had kept it locked away. He had never really been in the habit of telling her his feelings, that had not changed. Hearing him speak so willingly, so candidly, was intriguing and she did not wish to interrupt it.

“And I am… still being selfish. I have what I had dreamed of, and for a time you were… far from safe with me. And now I am the one with nightmares, and I pray every time that when I wake up that you will still be here. I never… comforted you, and yet I ask it of you.” His right hand stroked her hair absently, his left arm tight around her middle.

While he was still definitely a little cautious about the arm, it seemed he was at least starting to realize he was not going to hurt her by simply touching her with his left hand.

“Oh, love…” she had never known. Never known his feelings, never known his pain. She wished she had reached out to him sooner. The fissures, stopping Azwel, they had been important missions. She had wanted to save as many as she could, certainly, but she had also… wanted to help him, somehow. Some part of her focus had always been on Grøh. He had always seemed so noble and so… sad. He had always fought, and struggled, and bore his hurt alone. She had wanted to be at his side, lighten his burden. And instead, he had ended up sacrificing everything to save her. “If you need me to be here when you wake up, then I always will be.”

And it really was, as far as Medea was concerned, as simple as that.

“Medea-”

“I want to be. Because I love you.” She cut off what she was certain had almost been a denial. She knew, in the back of her mind, that Grøh would always be fixated on the part of him that was not human. He might never fully accept that she loved him in spite of it.

She would tell him regardless, even if she never truly convinced him.

He seemed to think better of arguing, and kissed her forehead instead.

“You did comfort me, in a way. From the nightmares. You were so… confident, strong. Amazing, even. Watching you made me think that even if I… was not as strong as I needed to be, that everything would be alright.” She nestled her cheek against his chest. “But had I known crawling into bed with you was an option I may have preferred that.”

His hum that time sounded much closer to a true laugh than it ever had before. It surprised her enough that she lifted her head to look at him.

“It was merely a dream I held on to,” Grøh said, amusement softening his features significantly. After a moment, he fell serious again. “I never… imagined it would come true. I should have told you sooner. How I felt.”

“In the end it worked out,” Medea said, tucking her head down against his chest again. She liked to hear his heartbeat in her ear, feel his steady breathing. It was comforting. Reassuring to know that he was safe and whole.

“I suppose it did.” Grøh looked thoughtfully at the ceiling for a long while. “Curtis used to tell me I was the unluckiest person he had ever met.”

“Oh?” It was the first time he had ever mentioned Curtis casually. The first time he had ever told her anything beyond the fact that he had died.

The significance was not lost on her. Little by little, he was starting to truly allow her to know him. She was fairly certain, in fact, that this was the most he had ever talked to her at one time. At least, insofar as things going on internally with him.

“I believed him, for a time. I dedicated my life to slaying outsiders only to become one myself. Curtis tried to help me and I was forced to kill him. I survived the fall with Azwel only to lose my soul. I understood that I loved you only when I thought it was too late for anything to come of it.” Grøh still looked at the ceiling, but he was tracing thoughtful lines along her back. “But now I think perhaps it was actually a strange kind of good luck. It all… led me to you. I had never thought of a future before. But I would not trade the one I have now for anything.”

“Me either.” Medea agreed softly, turning her head to place a kiss where she felt his heartbeat.


	3. Fight, and Move Forward

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So I mentioned in a comment I had two versions of chapter 3 started. I was really determined to write a chapter without smut. And then... have you this. I decided to just put them all together.  
> Anyone ever read “Devil’s Line”? Great manga, and I think you would be able to see the HEAVY influence here.  
> Fair warning, this one gets a little... kinkier. Not like extreme, but enough that I feel like it needs markings but.. the last time I wrote anything I deemed worth posting was uh... 2013. Dated myself there I’m guessing. If anyone feels like it needs a more serious disclaimer please let me know. 
> 
> And due to the fact this was already longer than the last two chapters this is now a four-part instead of trilogy.  
> ***

“ _Again.”_

_Medea’s knees shook, the grip on her sword lax at best. She tightened it immediately, knowing that would be the first thing he scolded her for._

_He always lectured that she relaxed too easily and would get taken by surprise._

_Grøh moved at what was probably a third of his regular speed, and to her he still looked like a blur of shadow and whirling blades._

_She was much improved, she knew, even if he still locked her down in a matter of three or four minutes._

_It had once taken him less than thirty seconds. He also did not swing nearly as hard as he had used to._

_Not leaving her covered in bruises was probably his way of complimenting her._

_To her surprise, this time he also stopped before he had knocked her to the ground, lowering his weapon with the faintest nod._

_“Good.”_

_Medea blinked, scarcely believing she had heard anything like praise issue out of Grøh’s mouth._

_“Why do you look so shocked? You have improved significantly.”_

_“But I never even get close to beating yo-”_

_“That is not the purpose of your training. If you ever wished to beat me, it would be twice as hard.”_

_Unwittingly, Medea felt herself swallow. She already felt like she almost died at the end of these matches, if he seriously trained her she expected she would be leaving while missing a limb._

_Grøh’s visible eye oddly seemed to soften slightly. “You can handle most enemies we will face alone, that was my reason. I will not have to watch you as closely now.”_

_She pondered his wording. Was that why he always seemed to be the first on scene when they ran into trouble?_

_Had he been protecting her all this time?_

_It was not unreasonable, she supposed. She could seal the fissures. She was an asset._

_“We are done for the day.”_

_Grøh started striding away, and Medea hastily followed while sheathing her sword. Even though she had been at the Aval headquarters for a week or so, she still found it confusing and tended to follow him to avoid getting lost._

_She frowned, wondering if perhaps he saw her as a clingy stray of some sort._

_Grøh was, unfortunately for him, the closest thing to familiar in this strange place to her. Cold and taciturn as he may be. Familiar and aloof was better than outright mistrust, as most of the Aval regarded her._

_He knew the hallways like he could walk them in his sleep. She remembered Dion once saying that as far as he knew, Grøh had always been part of Aval._

_“Can I ask you some questions?”_

_He glanced at her briefly without breaking his stride. “It depends on the questions.”_

_Since it was not an outright no, and Grøh was certainly not the type to mince words, Medea took it as permission._

_“How long have you been part of Aval?”_

_“Most of my life.”_

_Medea frowned. Not very specific. She had no idea how old he was either. No child certainly, and probably not much beyond her own twenty eight years if at all. Still a very broad range._

_“Where are you from? You mentioned blizzards-”_

_“North.” Medea frowned harder at his adamant non-answers._

_“Is Grøh your real name?”_

_“Is Medea yours?” It took her a moment to catch the hint of amusement in his tone._

_Was he… teasing her?_

_He had never seemed to acknowledge he even had a sense of humor before._

_“What a strange thing to ask,” he continued aloud, still walking when she did not immediately answer._

_“Not that strange. I know so little about you.”_

_“There is not much to know.” He gave a tiny shrug. “I am loyal to Aval, I will exterminate outsiders, and I will ensure that you will get to the astral fissures, I will, eventually, face and kill Azwel.”_

_As usual, the mention of the madman’s name gave Grøh a faint tick of anger in his face._

_Was is strange to think that she liked seeing him angry? It made him seem more… human, she supposed._

_“What about… family? Parents? Siblings? Do you have any?”_

_“No.” His short tone did not leave room to question whether he had left them, they had died, or if he simply did not know. Perhaps Grøh was an orphan and she had far overstepped?_

_Suddenly, he stopped and turned so sharply Medea almost walked into him._

_“Why are you asking me this?”_

_She shrugged. “Curiosity I suppose. I wanted to know more about you.”_

_He looked momentarily stunned. The expression vanished almost as soon as it surfaced._

_“Why?”_

_“Because you are the only familiar person for a hundred leagues and I know almost nothing about you.”_

_Stoic as ever, Grøh appeared to give her answer a great deal of thought_. 

_“You may keep asking.” He turned and started walking again, leaving her to indignantly jog two steps to catch up._

_“But you barely answer!”_

_He said nothing, made no noise at all in fact, but Medea was suddenly under the distinct impression he was good-naturedly laughing at her._

***

 

She woke up without Grøh beside for the first time in several days, and found it a little disorienting. 

And chilly. They might be further south now, but it was still definitely a cold climate. She had grown far too accustomed to having his body heat far too quickly. 

“Good morning.” She felt him leaning over her, and a kiss was pressed to her temple. How he had known she was awake before she had even opened her eyes was a mystery. 

“Morning,” she returned sleepily, rubbing at her eyes lightly. “You were up early?” 

“Mm. Breakfast.” He sat what appeared to be a pastry wrapped in a napkin on the pillow beside her head. 

“Oh, thank you.” He nodded once, moving to sit on the foot of the bed while she ate. Fluffy, sweet, and filled with some kind of fruit jelly. And still just a little warm from the oven. How had he timed it that well? “This is… really good.” 

“Supposedly the best in town.” She smiled over at him, and realized abruptly that he was dressed plainly rather than in his Aval uniform. She had never seen him in casual clothes before. “What is it?” He had noticed her stare.

“It seems strange to see you out of your uniform.” 

He appeared to ponder her statement. “You see me naked all the time. Does that not count?” 

Her next bite of pastry missed Medea’s mouth by an inch. 

_A joke. Did Grøh just… make a joke?_

He gave her a blank look, and Medea was still not sure if that had been a serious observation or not. 

“Well,” she finally said, wiping at the corner of her mouth with her thumb, “I do enjoy seeing you naked.” 

“I know.” 

While she imagined he did, in fact, know that to be the truth -she did have a tendency to ogle- the way he quirked a brow at Medea let her know it was meant to be funny, and she did not hold back her amusement. 

He still had not quite seemed to remember how to smile, but Grøh’s expression had lightened at the very least. 

“If I am no longer part of the organization I do not wish to draw their attention.” He said after a moment, Medea finishing off her pastry. “So I figured I should stop wearing their armor.” 

“It makes sense.” She nodded in agreement. She kind of liked it. It made him seem… less austere. At the same time though, she doubted he was going to pass unnoticed. Between his noticeable hair and his unique fighting style, staying out of Aval’s sight would be a feat. She would like to think if they could simply avoid trouble, things would go smoothly. 

Sadly, trouble seemed to follow them. Or they ran headlong into it.

She deigned not to think on it further and proceeded to get dressed so they could leave in a timely fashion.

Even though Grøh had let her sleep late, they made it on the road before noon, trading horses for traveling on foot through the surrounding heavy forest. 

Grøh seemed to have become quite fond of traveling hand-in-hand, letting her fingers slip from his only when the terrain was simply too rough for it to be reasonable. Clearly the man had not seen enough affection in his life. 

She would happily make up for the lack of it. 

And he _talked._ That was the most unusual thing. Like some floodgate had been opened the previous night, he asked her constant questions, from the mundane to the philosophical. What had her parents been like? What did magic feel like? Who else had she met in her travels? He was slightly less forthcoming with his own answers, but Medea suspected it was simply because he was not used to being asked personal questions in a friendly manner. 

“When did you know?” This question was more hesitant than the others. 

“Know what?” 

“What you… felt.” He looked away when she balked from an immediate response. “You do not have to tell me, I only-”

“Do you remember the first time you told me about your arm? What had happened to you?” 

“Yes.”

“That was the first time you trusted me. And I thought that maybe there was the smallest, tiniest chance that I could truly get close to you. That was all I really wanted at first. Even if you never felt the same, I thought maybe you… needed someone. A friend. But I knew I loved you when you asked me to uhm… kill you, if you ever lost yourself.” She had known instantly it was an impossible task for her. 

She had nodded silently though she had no intention of ever harming him, and when he had turned to leave and go back to the camp, she knew she had to take a leap a faith. It mattered not if he could never return her feelings, she could not silently hold them any longer. Yet, she had not been able to muster the words. He had only stood there looking at her, oddly patient, and then he had softly brushed his hand against her cheek, with the gentlest expression she had ever seen Grøh make. She had taken the chance. 

Her hands had framed his jaw, the first time he had looked at her without his visor, the first time she had truly seen his face. Grøh had visibly flinched at the touch to the left side of his face, but had not pulled away. She remembered having to stand on her toes to kiss him, the way his breath had shuddered slightly at the first contact. 

Like he had expected it to hurt. 

Then, to her utter shock, he had kissed her in return -and fiercely at that- his arms had banded tightly around her waist, and he had put his back against a tree as if the kiss had made him suddenly unsteady. Minutes passed, she could think of nothing but how badly she wanted to be with him, but then Grøh had let her go, and gently moved away. 

He had told her to rest. She knew that he was making the right choice, but her heart had been heavy when she returned to camp and quietly slipped into her tent. 

Almost an hour later, she had heard Grøh’s voice, softly instructing Dion and Natalie to scout the temple for easy ways in under the cover of night. 

The instructions had been odd, they already knew there was no “easy” way for tomorrow’s fight, but when his footsteps had stopped outside her tent, she understood his true intent. 

He had not expected her to invite him, he had only hoped. 

She had happily welcomed him, happily accepted the claiming kiss he placed on her mouth. 

The only time he had hesitated was when she started to undress him. Not shyness, she understood at once, but uncertainty. He had not known what reaction to expect when he showed her how to take the gauntlet off. She had known he was scarred, she had not realized the extent of it until that night. He had tried to turn away, keep his left side as much out of her sight as possible despite the darkness. 

She had realized then that she was the first person he had shown of his own volition. 

They were signs of his bravery, his strength, not something to be ashamed of. 

He had shivered when she trailed her fingers up his arm, felt the divots of his scars. When she had lowered her mouth to the deepest one on his chest, he had fought to contain a gasp. 

He had handled her reverently, delicately. Almost fearfully, as if she would fade away or he might break her if he moved too quickly, touched her with more than his fingertips. 

She lavished kisses on him until, if he could not forget about them, he at least believed she was not bothered by the scars in the slightest. 

They had made love soundly, and he had held her close so tightly it surprised her. It had conveyed feelings he had not yet found words for. Medea had cherished what she prayed would not be her last -only- night with him. 

Grøh had been gone when she awoke, but she could not be angry with him. Of all of them, he had faced the most daunting challenge, she could not fault him for needing time to prepare, to come to terms with what might happen. For the most part he had behaved as if the night had not happened, except for the lengthy, lingering touches he had left on her whenever he thought Dion and Natalie were not looking. 

Silent promises that they both knew were implausible at best. 

She would always remember the sadness he had looked upon her with while laying beside her. Not because he regretted it, but because they had waited so long. He feared to lose what he had only just found. 

“Hurting you was the most abominable thing I could think of doing. I promised you, but I lied. I never intended to let it go that far. I just… was not strong enough. I failed. Failed you.” 

“No.” He stopped suddenly, gripped her wrist tightly enough that she turned to face him. “I never thought that. If anything I always thought you were brave. I admired that about you.” 

Medea started to speak, but something caught Grøh’s eye and his expression hardened. His whole body shifted noticeably, like a predator about to pounce. 

“Grøh?” She had learned long ago to trust his instincts. She had a peculiar kind of intuition, and since Soul Calibur, the sixth sense had definitely manifested more strongly, but when it came to combat his skills were preternatural. There was a flash of red in his left eye, and then Medea found herself roughly backed against a tree, one of his arms on either side of her, and his chest pressed against hers until her shoulders felt rough bark. 

He made a sound that was a combination of a growl in his throat and a hiss, though Medea had still seen nothing to set off such a feral reaction. 

“What is it-”

Her hand found the answer before she finished the question, something metal stuck dangerously close to his lung, protruding from his ribs. Her fingers were wet and she knew at once it was blood. He let out a tiny hiss of pain, and she knew it was bad. Grøh rarely even winced. 

“As expected.” 

Medea recognized the voice, had heard it once before. The woman Mitsurugi had referred to as a Ninja. Taki. 

A demon slayer. 

Her eyes tracked the voice, Grøh still pinning her to the tree, and she finally spied the woman’s signature red suit in the shadows. As if knowing she had been spotted, Taki approached. 

“You are much improved.” It seemed an odd time for a compliment, but during their first meeting, Medea had never seen Taki coming. Nor Grøh keeping a close watch on her from the shadows during the encounter. Whatever the astral fissures and Soul Calibur had done to her, Medea had certainly… changed. 

Taki gave them a scathing once over. “That potion purges evil spirits. You have indeed given in to your corruption.” 

Fear seized Medea’s heart. Demon slayer. Grøh had been called the Black Demon. 

Taki was here to kill him. 

And he was pinning her to a stupid tree trying to protect her. 

She grabbed Grøh’s shoulders, thinking to step around him, but when he did not want to move, he would not be moved. 

“Medea. Stop. She is not after you.” His voice was harsh. 

“And you are bleeding,” she snapped back. She leveled a stare at Taki. “Leave him be.” 

The words probably lacked the proper authority when spoken from behind Grøh’s broad shoulders. 

“As I told you once, if you gave into the evil I would end you. The same goes for your friend. He murdered dozens of innocents-” Taki drew one of her short swords, “-and protecting you does not redeem him.” 

Medea shoved at Grøh’s chest, but rather than step aside and let her fight, he turned and lunged at Taki. 

While she had no doubt he was still formidable, the poison had clearly slowed him down. And Taki was more than equipped to fight… those who may not be completely human. 

He knocked her first attack away at the cost of a cut down his arm. It was plainly clear to see he was not accustomed to fighting without his gauntlet. 

If only Aerondight had been handy- but he was still unsure he wanted to carry it openly. 

Taki’s foot made contact with his jaw, and Grøh staggered back. 

She saw the red flash in his eye, saw the scars begin to burn with their grim glow. The snarl that issued from him sounded truly demonic, and the speed he moved with now was faster than Medea’s eyes could track. 

If he gave in, could he come back? 

To survive, he would need to use the malfestation, survive, and lose his humanity again. 

He needed to let her help him. 

“Grøh!” 

As quickly he had summoned the power, he banished it. She had no time to be glad of it. 

He stumbled. Taki had a clean strike at his heart. 

Panic, and a vicious need to protect him swarmed Medea. Not again. She would not risk losing him again. 

A furious slice of her hand through the air brought a wall of fire to life between Grøh and the ninja, and she drew her sword. 

“You will not touch him.” She was not stupid enough to imagine Taki would simply fight her head on, but she stood firmly between them anyway. Fire danced along her blade as she raised the point to Taki. “Leave. Him. Be.” 

Taki’s eyes narrowed. “Stand aside. My quarrel is with the Black Demon, not his fool of a lover.” 

“Do not call him that!” Medea near-shouted fiercely. She hardly noticed Taki’s second barb. Though it did make her wonder how long she had been following them. 

“Medea.” Grøh was leaning heavily on a tree, and while he had removed the tiny throwing blade, the blood had bloomed into a large stain. Whether it was the pain or the poison, his breathing was labored. 

“You are in no condition to fight.” She shook her head.

“She is not here for you-”

“I will not let her have you without a fight.” Medea cut him off. Her eyes fixed on Taki again. “I know what you think, but that was not who he is. Soul Calibur brought Grøh back.” 

“You expect me to believe that?” Taki scoffed, and was moving into a stance Medea knew meant she was about to strike. 

“Perhaps not. And it does not matter. If you try to harm him again, you will go through me.” 

“Damn fool!” 

Steel scraped steel, the shower of sparks all the more impressive for Medea’s flames when she blocked the strike. 

Taki was incredibly fast. Almost as fast as Grøh; who had been Medea’s primary practice partner for the better part of their time together. Still, it did not mean she could easily keep up, and she relied heavily on her magic. Bursts of fire to keep Taki at bay, the very forest bending to her will, branches and weeds snagging at her when Medea could not match her blow for blow. 

Grøh had started to sink down into a slouch against the tree, and concern hastened her attacks, but she did not panic. She had to maintain a focus if she intended to help him. 

Taki seemed more interested in getting around her than actually dueling, likely to get to Grøh, but Medea would not allow it. By fire or blade, she kept her at a distance, never managing to land a decisive blow. Though Taki did not outwardly show it, Medea could sense she was beginning to get frustrated. 

Frustrated meant she was getting less focused on simply sidestepping Medea and more intent on injuring her. She felt the sting of a blade against her leg, cutting through the light leather of her armor. 

“Medea!” She heard Grøh call to her, saw him struggling to his feet from the corner of her eye. She had to end this before he risked all to try and protect her again. 

Power surged inside her, like magic but… not. The fire along her sword tinged blue, and then blazed almost white, an aura of the same bursting from her. Soul Calibur coming to her aid once again, even if she was not attempting to summon it. The Spirit Blade lent her its strength, and she was able to throw Taki back with a powerful swipe of her sword. 

The ninja had evaded most of the damage, but it sent her flying, twisting to her feet to skid to a halt. A curtain of blood dyed her suit darker red where it bubbled from a slash in her abdomen. Not lethal, but enough that she hesitated. 

“So. The rumors are true,” Taki observed in a way that was not actually a question. “Another with the power to purify. As if she had a dark sibling…” 

“Who?” Medea demanded, not lowering her sword despite the fact Taki’s stance had relaxed significantly. 

“Sophitia. A Greek warrior. Blessed by her Gods.” 

“I know of her.” Medea had crossed sword with her, twice in fact, during her travels, and had seen her… powers. 

“You have the same aura. If… a little more fierce. Wild.” Taki seemed oddly nostalgic when she spoke of Sophitia. Even… affectionate? Her dark eyes zeroed in on Grøh again, looking calculating. “You conquered the evil. When she called to you.” 

“Yes.” He answered simply. Medea was becoming very worried about how hard it was starting to seem for him to breathe. If she knew what was in the poison, she could formulate an antidote, but unless Taki told her, she would simply have to improvise. 

“Please. Taki. Let me help him. All I want is to help him.” Medea lowered her weapon cautiously, but did not yet let go of Soul Calibur’s power flooding her veins. “I know that it may not matter to you, but he is not the Black Demon any longer.” 

“I saw Sophitia destroy Soul Edge. At no small cost to herself. If you are the same and truly see no evil in him…” she trailed off, and while her mouth stayed taught in a frown, she produced a vial from somewhere on her person. Medea honestly had no idea where, there did not appear to be room for anything else in Taki’s suit. 

The ninja tossed the vial, Medea catching it hastily. 

“Half on the wound, he drinks the other half.” 

While she was not completely mistrusting, Medea shook a couple drops of the bitter potion onto her own tongue. It tasted awful, but she felt nothing untoward. 

She had no option but to trust Taki enough to turn her back and kneel beside Grøh. Sweat beaded his forehead, his breathing sounding ragged. 

“Do you trust her?” 

“I have… little choice, love.” Despite everything, the use of her usual pet name for him made Medea smile. 

She grabbed the hem of his shirt and hauled it up enough to do as Taki instructed, pouring half on the wound which was already an angry red. He flinched only enough to be visible. His hands were shaking, too much to hold the tiny bottle steady. She took it back gently, fingers delicate under his chin, Medea tilted his head back and poured the remainder in his mouth. Grøh coughed as if trying to expel cobwebs from his chest, and then pitched forward, resting his forehead on her shoulder. His breathing sounded better already. Calmer like it did not cause him pain, at least. 

“Are you alright?” 

“That tasted horrid.” He grumbled, and she laughed only the tiniest bit, rubbing a hand down his back. Relief made her limbs feel weak. 

“So then. You keep him tame?” 

She had almost forgotten Taki was still there, perhaps still a threat. Her arms coiled protectively around his neck. 

“No.” 

“Yes.” Grøh said at the same time. He gripped her arm gently, reassuringly. “I will never harm Medea. As long as I am near her, I will stay in control.” 

“Her or Soul Calibur?” Taki’s sarcasm was a palpable wave. 

“Does it matter to you?” Grøh asked before Medea could fire back in anger. “You want me dead either way.” 

Taki shrugged. “I purge evil. I care not what form it takes. If I remember correctly, you once adhered to the same philosophy. Even when it came to Medea.” 

“She has shown me another way.” He lifted his head from Medea’s shoulder enough to look at Taki. “But if I risk becoming… that, again, I will end my life. You have my word.” 

“Pfft. As if she would not stop you.” Taki nodded to Medea again. 

“I would try.” She agreed with determination. “I know you likely do not care, but it was not entirely Grøh’s fault. It was just as much mine. I bear part of this burden, part of this evil.” 

“Medea-”

“I could have killed him. I chose not to. I wanted to try to save him. He only… became that because of me.” 

Taki’s frown flattened and then deepened. Finally she gave a begrudging shrug. “Soul Calibur is not perfect, but it does expel evil spirits effectively. If it did not destroy him he must not have lost himself completely.” 

She sheathed her blade and crosses her arms in a thoughtful way. 

Medea’s mouth dropped open for a brief moment. Taki was… going to let them go? 

“Know this. You,” she pointed at Medea, “best keep him on a short leash. This is your one warning. The next time the beast rears its head, I will cut you down where you stand. Both of you if need be. You will not always be able to protect him from himself.” 

“I know,” Medea said softly, and felt Grøh shift to look at her intently. 

She understood, truly she did. All she wanted was whatever time she _could_ have. 

“The poison will wear off in a day or two. Maybe less with her. Suspect it was lucky you fell in love with a witch.” 

Taki vanished into the shadows as quickly as she had appeared, leaving the couple huddled up under the tree in mild surprise for several moments. 

“That… is not what I expected.” Grøh finally broke the silence. 

“Never mind that. Let me look at where she hit you.” 

“It was a test,” he continued, even as Medea pulled at his shirt to better examine the puncture in his side. 

“What?” She was perhaps only half-listening, most of her attention devoted to deciding if Taki’s antidote had truly stopped the poison or merely numbed him. 

She would make a poultice of her own, just to be safe. Which meant there would be no traveling until she was confident he was alright. 

“A test. If she had truly wanted me dead she would not have revealed herself. Her concern was whether I could be trusted with you.” 

“And why, pray tell, is that any business of hers?” Taki had thankfully attacked in a clearing that was decent for camping for the night, and so Medea unpacked her medical kit and the tent. “Let me take your shirt off so I can bandage that.” 

He winced when he lifted his arm, and so Medea resigned herself to ruining the shirt and cutting it off to avoid hurting him. She supposed there was no saving it from the bloodstain anyway. 

“You are the wielder of Soul Calibur, traveling with a malfested outsider. She is right to be concerned.” 

“I also sleep with him, does she get a say in that as well?” Medea asked with a hint of a snarl in her voice. It bothered her more that he so easily accepted Taki’s attack as the right course of action than the actual fact they had been attacked. She took a steadying breath and applied a salve gently to the puncture in his side. It was a generic medicinal meant to draw out poisons, and would ease any pain he had. 

Grøh looked at her evenly. “No. Not as long as you want me near.” 

“Always,” She said simply, adding gauze staunch the flow of blood. 

“Though I should have stopped her from involving you.” 

“I attacked her, Grøh.” 

“That is not all. She knew when I realized she was there. And that I would dodge her blade. She aimed for you knowing I would not let it touch you.” 

“You…” Medea pursed her lips, trying not to let her frustration drive her words. “Grøh, you need to be more careful. What if she had not given you an antidote? What if she had not believed that you were yourself again? You might have died!”

“Perhaps. But I will not let the backlash of what I have done do you any harm.” 

“You think I would be less upset if you died than if I have to use my sword once in awhile?” She felt her jaw starting to clench in mild anger. 

“They are my crimes, I will bear the consequences. Not everyone will be so forgiving, for the things I have done.” He touched her face gently, smoothing the downward curve of her mouth with his thumb. “I do not expect it, but the only forgiveness I truly want is yours.” 

“I would never forgive you for dying.” 

Something dark in his eyes lifted. “Understood.” 

“Grøh, what does that even-”

“I will not die until I have your permission.” 

She tried to look stern but was not sure she succeeded. “You will be waiting a long damn time.” 

“I can live with that.”

“Good. You shall have to. Let me see your arm.” She held out a hand expectantly. The cut was long, but not deep, and would not require stitches. Grøh also seemed to heal faster than average, so she was not overly concerned since this wound had not involved poison.

Cleaned and bandaged, she left it well enough alone. 

“I guess we will be camping again,” she stated then, picking up the tent bundle to find a sheltered spot. 

“I can walk.” 

“Until I know that poison has worn off I want to keep you resting.” 

His mouth quirked in a way that was almost smiling. “I am… not accustomed to this.” 

“Camping?” She questioned with a raised eyebrow. As far as she could remember they had always seemed to be camping. 

“Being cared for.” 

“Did no one ever-?”

“I suspect I am partially to blame. I have been told I can be difficult.” 

“Oh, you have no idea.” She chuckled when he looked mildly offended that she so easily agreed. 

***

 

    Taki’s attack had slowed their progress significantly towards Kashgar, and Medea proceeded to coddle him for at least a week after the fact. While Grøh was certain it was primarily genuine concern, he could not help but feel it was partially an excuse to fawn over him. 

    Not for the first time, he wondered if Medea truly understood the risk she was taking by so stubbornly staying with him. Taki had only attacked because of what he had done, what he was still very much capable of. He had known that attempts at revenge were probable, if not guaranteed, and it had been foolish to pretend like it would not affect Medea. 

Typical of his accursed luck, Grøh found that those who wished to hunt him may not be the only threat to his love. 

In fact, he was beginning to fear the true threat may be much, much closer. 

    At first it had been quiet, the voice in his head. He had not even realized it was the same one he had heard shortly after becoming malfested. Like his own but… twisted. 

    It begged for things, demanded things, craved things that Grøh was uncomfortable even giving thought to. 

    It wanted her. 

    He had not been concerned at first, before Medea, he had never considered his sexual appetite, he had not known what was normal and what was not. He only knew that he wanted her, constantly, with a kind of hunger that gnawed on him day and night. To be with her, to touch her, to taste her. 

    As the days passed, the wanting grew more… craven. More perverse. Images flashed through his mind of things that he could only pray he did not truly desire. To tear her clothes off, pin her to a wall, twist her arm behind her back so she could not fight him. Even when he fought against the images forcing their way into his mind, they persisted, the voice that he had thought was his raking across him like knives. 

    _Take take take take take. Take her._

“Grøh?” Her voice shattered the battle of will, broke the bizarre, dark urges’ hold on him. “You look… unwell.” 

    He shook his head, unable to answer her. How did one tell their lover that images of hurting them had been a constant torment for days? The part of him that was malfested wanted her, not the way he did. To consume her, take her power, tear Soul Calibur from her. 

    He kept it under control, if only barely. It was a peculiar conundrum, her touch both calmed him immeasurably and made the cruel desires almost impossible to resist. 

It was exactly as Zasalamel, as Taki had warned. Despite his apparent recovery, Grøh could feel himself slowly falling to it, felt it eating away at him. He simply could not determine the cause, a way to perhaps quell the growing darkness again. Was it being so near Medea, who carried so much power, from the fissures, her link to Soul Calibur, her own natural magic? Had Taki’s poison meant to test his malfestation ironically made it grow worse instead? Or was it simply that its parasitic nature made it always look for ways to break him, and it knew that harming her -better yet, causing him to harm her- would be the most sure way to do so? 

    Just outside of Kashgar, she checked the wound in his side for a final time, the mark healed to a puffy pink scar already. Her hand had wandered to his belt. It had been at least two weeks since their last coupling while he healed, for some reason it had not occurred to him that she had her own unattended appetite. 

    Trepidation had seized his heart, the images fresher in his mind than her willing form right before his eyes. She had somehow, impossibly understood, taken charge, pushed him gently to his back, held his wrists down while she peppered him with kisses. Pinning his hands had been more symbolic than anything, they both knew he could overpower her easily. 

    The thought had brought unspeakable terror to his mind. What if he lost his grip? What if that part of him that had long ago given in to his infection managed to slip in to control? 

    He was aware that the wisest choice would be to reject her affection altogether. But he could not fathom denying his desire to be with Medea. 

    He had taken her hands in his, pressed them to his neck, told her to push down until he felt it. He was hard to kill, but he needed air just as much as anyone else. It would be the most effective way for her to stop him. 

    For the first time, she had looked at him with abject horror in her eyes. Medea had pulled away from him so quickly that she stumbled when getting to her feet, leaving them both in an awkward, half-aroused, confused state. Her hands folded tightly together, gripped before her partially-clothed chest, she stared hard at him. 

    “Why?” 

    A difficult question, one he was not sure how to answer. He did not know how to express his struggle without giving her reason to fear him. 

    “To keep you safe,” He finally settled on the blunt truth. “I am afraid. Of what I may do.” 

    “Let me help you then, not… not choke you,” She protested. Angry. He did not understand why she was so angry. 

    “I doubt you can.” 

    The words had been harsh. Unnecessary. The look of hurt in her eyes had almost driven him mad because Grøh understood with painful clarity that he could not fix it. That he had caused it when he had sworn he would never harm her again. Surely better this than… than anything the malfested part of him wanted to do to her. 

    Distance. He did not want distance, but he needed it. He had not bothered to get his clothes when he marched himself into the darkness. 

    When Grøh was certain she would not see him and was not following him, he had fallen to his knees, head in his hands. 

    He had promised her. Sworn himself to her. 

    And now he was not certain he could abide by it. 

    It was the closest they had ever had to a true argument, and the grating silence hung heavy until they had stepped through the gates of Kashgar, and then, it had only broken because Medea had found other people to talk to. 

    He was desperate to reach out to her, desperate to feel her touch. He could not. 

    Medea’s hand gripped his elbow lightly, tearing him from his dark thoughts. It had surprised him; he had been almost certain that he was pushing their relationship to the brink, that she would and should hold him at arm’s length a little longer. She smiled at him, and suddenly he realized that she understood. She had always understood. 

    She knew that even if she accepted things as they were, Grøh could not. Not until he had exhausted all other options. 

    She led him to an impressive smithy, and introduced the young red-headed woman who appeared to be in charge of it as Bolta. Her friend. 

    Medea listened intently as he explained the process of making a limiter gauntlet to the best of his ability, and seemed oddly proud when he also handed over the two halves of Aerondight to explain the missing mechanism that was meant to go in the center. 

    The third request, the request he was not sure he dare ask of another, hung on the tip of his tongue. He was not sure how to best present his plight. And for some reason the idea of Medea hearing his plan brought him more anxiety than discussing it with a woman who was a stranger to him. 

Because Medea would understand why. And most likely rightfully hate him for it. He could not tell her. Not until they were alone and he could at least attempt to explain himself. 

    Perhaps because of his furtive glances in her direction, but it seemed she soon realized that there was something else. Medea excused herself on the pretense of procuring a room for them, and gathering something for dinner. 

    Bolta looked at him curiously when he lingered, and desperation had Grøh sputtering out what he had been turning over in his head for several days now. Bolta had raised an eyebrow at him, but, bless her, had not asked further questions and taken measurements. She seemed to accept that as long as he was a friend to Medea, he was a decent enough person. 

    He stayed in the workshop because he did not wish to endure a crowd, and knew that Medea would likely return here when she decided she needed to find him. 

    “I gotta say, yer not quite what I expected.” Bolta observed randomly, the rhythm of her hammer not wavering even a beat. “The way she always talked about you. Thought you were gonna look like those pictures of King Arthur.” 

    “Medea?” He supposed it was a silly question. 

    “Yeah. She loves you, you know. More’n anything.” 

    “I know.” And he also knew he was disgustingly unworthy. 

    “And she worries about you. All the time.” 

    “I know,” He said again. He hoped that while Bolta’s assistance might not prevent Medea from worrying, it would at least allow them to achieve some sense of normalcy again. Nothing was ever going to be truly “normal” for them. Perhaps this would only highlight exactly how deviant their relationship was. 

    Bolta looked like she wanted to say more, but chose not to. She completed the third order first, as he requested. He was not sure how Medea would feel about it. Grøh tucked it away in a leather bag, and Bolta said nothing as she began to work on the gauntlet. 

    Nearly two hours later, Medea returned, looking mildly confused to find him in nearly the exact same place she had left him. 

    “Your gauntlet?” 

    “Not done yet.” He shrugged, since it was not a lie. Bolta chose not to divulge anything, which he said a silent thanks for. 

    “Oh. I see.” Medea seemed suspicious. “Anyway, I found us a place. Bolta, do you want to come by for dinner and drinks later maybe? I plan to rest a little, I do not know if Grøh-”

    “I will go with you.” He nodded. His fingers tightened on the bag. Was now the time? Should he wait a few more days, suggest it before he revealed the decision he had made without her? 

    Medea made plans to meet Bolta later that evening, and together they left. Grøh followed her silently, his mind turning over the last couple of days. The bag in his hand felt like he was carrying a millstone. 

    “Do you want to… talk?” Medea asked softly, and he realized he had been staring at her while they walked. “I was… trying to give you space. Since the other night. But I just… I want to understand, Grøh.” 

    “I…” He started, let the sentence trail off. Medea did not… flinch, but she visibly withdrew. She expected him to push her away. Had he already damaged them beyond repair? He had been pushing her away, but for her safety. Did she not realize that? “I would like… to talk.” He finally said. 

    He did not know what to say, what words to use, but he knew that for Medea to understand, truly understand, he was going to have to try. He could not leave her in the dark, nor could he keep her at a safe distance and keep his sanity. He needed her, desperately. 

    Wanted her, desperately. 

    “Good.” She said it softly, again, and reached for his hand. He took hers gently, made sure it was his right, let her lead him. 

    She took him to an inn at the edge of the residential district, and gratitude flooded him to realize she knew he would want to be away from the noise of the trade center. Away from the people. 

***

 

    Grøh had always been quiet.  Stoic. Serious. This was… something different. 

    He was pulling away from her, hiding things from her. Withdrawing. He was hanging onto… whatever he had picked up from Bolta’s like a lifeline. He set it aside now, seeing her stare at it. 

    She knew that he would not initiate the conversation. She sat on the edge of the bed so he could take the chair if he wanted. Keep his distance. 

    “Tell me what was going on. The other night. With you.” 

    “It is as I said. I was afraid.” He said it bluntly. He stood just close enough for her to touch, but she was not sure it was what he needed. 

    “Of what?” He tried to break eye contact, but she would not let him. Her fingers brushed the back of his hand. “Please. Talk to me, love.” 

    “I do not know… how to explain.” He looked at her with so much sadness, it broke Medea’s heart. 

    “Try. And I will try to understand,” She encouraged gently, her hand curling around his. Grøh sat on the edge of the bed next to her, seeming thoughtful over their joined hands. 

    “I told you that the… malfestation never goes away? Not completely.” She nodded. “It… haunts me. And it makes me… think of things that I… sometimes it makes it feel like I want to… hurt you.” 

    “Love-”

    He shook his head, dropped her hand, stood and moved to the other side of the room. Pulling away from her physically as much as he just had emotionally. 

    “But I know you would not. Never. I believe that. Do you not?” She tried to understand, see it from his perspective. She could not. She was suddenly unsure she had ever truly understood anything about him. The constant turmoil he must face. 

    “I do not… know. Not any longer.” He looked at the ground, looked at her. “I do not understand myself anymore, Medea. I do not know if I feel this because of Soul Calibur, or because it is you but I… I am so afraid to hurt you. But I am also so afraid to try and live without you.  And so you must… have control. Of me.” 

    He knelt before her, and Medea felt her eyes widen, utterly confused and admittedly a little apprehensive of what he may be about to ask her. 

    “Do not tell me… Grøh, you cannot expect me to be comfortable almost hurting you every time we-”

    “No. I knew you would not wish that. So I… I asked Bolta for a… favor.” He moved then to the bag he had been holding tightly, What he removed, which she noted again was not the gauntlet he had intended to make, rather looked like a pair of silvery bracelets. Or at least, until she saw the bar connecting the two she thought they may be bracelets. 

    “Grøh… what are… those.”    

    “Restraints.” He said it so simply that at first all she could do was gape at him.  Grøh pressed the metal shackles into her hands. They were heavy, solid steel. He presented it like some kind of gift. 

    “And what exactly do you expect me to-”

    “Use them on me.” He said it with unabashed honesty. Like it should have been obvious. 

Medea supposed, in a way, it should have been. There were, as far as she knew, only a couple of reasons to give your significant other a pair of shackles. 

She tried not to instantly resist the idea, though it was very much new territory for her. She turned them over in her hands, contemplating. The metal was untarnished, obviously brand new, and had Bolta’s typical elegantly simple style. Two links of chain between the bar and the cuff itself would allow him at least enough mobility to turn his wrists. 

“You want me to start… chaining you to the bed?” She questioned, hoping her tone stayed neutral. 

“No. More than likely I would break the bed frame. Shackling my hands behind my back is probably the best choice.” 

Medea realized he had been thinking about this since the night he had put her hands on his throat. She gripped the metal in her lap tightly, Grøh watching her intently. 

“I know that this may not be something you will be comfortable with but-”

“I only… I worry that it may not be comfortable for you either.” 

“Perhaps not,” He agreed, moving to sit beside her again. “But at least I will feel that you are safer.” 

“This is recent? The… whatever makes you feel that this is necessary?” 

His mouth twisted. “Maybe not. I have always found it difficult to maintain control where you are concerned. But since the fall it has been… more overwhelming. Perhaps because I have opened the door for it once already.” 

Medea glanced at him briefly, Grøh’s face was stony. She knew that he struggled, she was not sure she had realized exactly how much until this moment. 

He returned her glance after a moment. “I will not ask this of you if it troubles you.” 

“I can not say I… want to. But if this is something you need…” 

“For now, at least.” He nodded solemnly. “It was the only solution I could come up with. You will not have to hurt me, and I will not be able to easily harm you if I ever… slip.” 

“Is it… worth it? For you I mean. It just seems…” she hesitated, trying to choose her words carefully. Dehumanizing? Cruel? Certainly extreme. 

“It is worth it. And… selfish, I know. If I am unable to control myself I should not ask you to do it for me. It is your choice, it will always be your choice. If you would prefer I keep my distance instead, I will accept that. It will not change the way I feel. Nothing will change that.” 

Medea bit down on her lip, considering everything he had just told her carefully. Sex was not a necessary part of their relationship, but she was not certain she would be willing to give it up entirely. For one, Medea thoroughly enjoyed it, she liked to feel him so close to her, within her, there were few things that could replace that kind of intimacy. There was no denying that it strengthened their bond. Whenever her heart craved him, it seemed her body was quick to follow. 

But would she still feel that way if she had to bind him to make it work? Keep Grøh the way one would a prisoner? 

She recognized that, more than anything, it was a sign of trust. Giving everything over to her, even the control he held to so tightly. And now, she realized, with such frailty. It had been the same when he told her to press down. He had put his faith in her so completely, put his very life in her hands. She understood that it had been an indication of his ultimate trust in her, but the whole ordeal had shaken her to her very soul. Rattled her. 

She did not like to imagine hurting him, even if he asked her to. 

Medea supposed, then, that this was a better alternative. If it made him more secure, she would absolutely prefer restraining him than have Grøh suggest she hold a knife to his windpipe while they were intimate or something of that nature. 

She sighed, and saw him tense from the corner of her eye. He was deathly afraid of her answer. 

“Grøh, first, let me say that I love you. I want to be with you, and so I am… willing to try. But-” she gently but firmly interrupted whatever his response was about to be, “-I am also not going to just slap shackles on you on a whim. We need to… experiment. Figure out what will work and what will not. I want you to talk to me. Tell me when you… want them, that is the only time I will use them. And promise me you will not just let me do whatever I want. This,” she gestured between them briefly, “goes both ways.” 

He was looking at her intently, and gave a single nod. “I… know that I ask a lot of you. To accept a lot, maybe too much. I am… sorry.” 

“No. No apology necessary. I just need you to be open with me. That is the only way I can understand.” 

Grøh looked away for a moment. “I only want to protect you. Even from myself. Since I am apparently too selfish to let you go.” 

“This is just as much my choice. Not everything is your burden to bear alone.” She touched the back of his hand lightly. He stared at the gentle contact point of her fingers for a long moment, silent, his jaw working as if unsure of what exactly he wanted to say next. 

What he finally settled on actually surprised her. 

“Would you like to… try them?” 

“Oh.” Medea felt a blush start to creep up to her face, and she admitted that her answer was very… hesitant. She had thought, had hoped maybe, to have more time to get accustomed to the idea that chaining Grøh down was maybe going to start being the norm. “Would… you like to?” 

Silently, he nodded, gaze fixed to hers. She had never known Grøh to have a nervous tic, but it seemed a bit like he might be chewing on the inside of his cheek. 

For some reason she found the notion that he was also uncertain comforting. At least that meant they would be learning together. 

Still, she was pretty sure she was not ready to start with them on, and sat the shackles aside. He looked mildly surprised, but said nothing. 

“Bolta made you a key, also, I hope?” Her voice sounded much more confident than she felt. Wordlessly still, Grøh removed a small silvery key from his pocket and handed it over. “Only one?” 

“You are the only person who will ever need it.” He shrugged. 

“Alright.” She nodded, and placed it carefully on the side table where there was less chance of it getting knocked down and lost. She scooted towards him on the bed, rested her hand on his knee. “Tell me when you need them.” 

“Understood.” A singular, curt nod. 

Medea hesitated, then, though it was not that she was… unsure exactly. She only worried that he would rely too quickly on the external control, too easily. That instead of being a pleasurable experience, sex might start seeming akin to torture. 

“Do not…” Grøh started, and then stopped abruptly. His hands were clenched into tight fists on his own knees, and he stared hard at them. “Do not… be afraid of me. Please.” 

“Oh, love, no. Never.” His words made her all the more determined to somehow make this work. This would not break them. “I only worry that… this will be unpleasant. For you.” 

He looked at her then, and to Medea’s utter shock, he smiled. It was thin, and seemed strained, but it was genuine. “I can be with you. That is… all that matters to me.”  

Her vision went the tiniest bit blurry, and she only realized her eyes had fogged over with sentimental little tears when he reached over to brush them away. She could feel his gentle breathing against her lips, and she resolved to have as much devotion to making their relationship work as he did. If he was willing to be restrained, she would be willing to accept it. 

Grøh kissed her forehead gently, obviously attempting to let her decide, and Medea did in an instant. She gripped his jaw gently, pulled his mouth to hers, and felt him reach to brace a hand behind her. 

It felt good. So good. There had been so much distance, so much tension, since that night. It was a relief to have the barrier shattered again. She had missed having this kind of connection with her other half, even if it had only been… had it only been a week ago that she feared he would ask her to kill him again? 

Did it matter? They were as lovers once more. Albeit with a twist. 

His tongue pressed against her lips almost… shyly. She opened for him, and though he hesitated, it was only for a moment. 

Grøh pressed against her, eased her back into the bed, but he was keeping his hands to himself. They stayed firmly on the mattress on either side of her, caging her in, but not touching her, and making sure he did not pin her under his weight. 

Practicing for when he would no longer be able to use his hands? 

One of the other perks of Grøh no longer devoutly wearing his Aval armor -besides looking much less like some agent of death- was that it was much easier to undress him. 

Shirt thrown, boots kicked off, he was a furnace of body heat hovering above her, his mouth nibbling along her neck. 

Medea tugged at his belt, got it unlatched after a couple of tries. 

“Wait-” he started but it dropped off into a groan when she pushed the waistband down enough to free his erection. Her fingers circled turgid flesh, pumped once gently, and she felt his whole body convulse slightly. 

He was so- 

“Cuffs.” His voice, a hoarse, harsh whisper, broke her focus on touching him. “Medea. Put them on. Now.” 

“Are… are you sure?” 

“Yes.” He spoke through gritted teeth. It was only then she became aware of how tightly his fingers had dug into the mattress on either side of her. His knuckles were white with the effort, the sheet and the mattress pad underneath had torn open under his left. 

“Alright. Alright.” She kissed his cheek, removed her hand from his trousers to pat his shoulder lightly. “Sit up for me, okay?” 

Quietly he did as told, moved several inches down the mattress, his right hand gripped tightly around his left wrist. 

Was it flaring? She has seen no hint of it in his eye. Then again, she supposed Grøh had a much better understanding of it then she did. He had always known exactly how far he could push himself, and so she deferred to his judgement. 

She picked up the shackles, unlocked them, and without her having to ask he turned so that she could securely latch them around his wrists. 

As soon as the metal clicked closed, he issued a soft sigh. It sounded… relieved. 

Medea gnawed at her lower lip, trying to decide how she felt. She had not been instantly put off as she had first expected. If anything, her heart had accelerated just a tiny bit. 

Did she perhaps actually find this… erotic? 

He was watching her over his shoulder, a reserved sort of anxiety evident in his expression. “Is it… strange?” 

“A little.” She admitted with a nod. A tentative smile found its way to her face. “But not as strange as I thought.” 

“Ah,” He responded simply, and Medea realized then that neither of them were sure what exactly was supposed to happen next. With his hands behind his back as they were, Grøh was slightly hunched awkwardly, unclothed except for the pants hanging low on his hips. He was also still very... blatantly aroused. The shackles had clearly not deterred him either. 

There was no way he would be comfortable laying on his back bound as he was. She also sincerely doubted he would tell her if did feel discomfort. 

“A chair,” She said suddenly. 

“What?” 

“You sitting in a chair will work, I think. I can uhm… touch you more easily, and that should keep the shackles from being… painful.” 

“It will not hurt me.” 

“Grøh…” 

“It will not. Because you will be gentle. You always are.” He leaned over enough to kiss her lightly. She supposed that not being able to move his arms had thrown his balance off just a tad because he mostly made contact with her chin. 

The sentiment behind it still came through clearly. 

“Your decision,” He said simply. 

Medea was not sure if she found the idea of having all the control intriguing or terrifying. 

She wanted to be with him. No matter what that meant for them now. 

“Chair.” She slid off the bed and pulled the simple wooden piece out from the table, dragging it to the middle of the floor. Why she felt like making a display of it, she was not sure. Her confidence in the idea seemed to reassure him. 

He sat, shifting around a little until he had his bounds hands set behind him comfortably, which meant he slouched slightly, hips forward. 

It was a very “come hither” look, like he was just waiting for her to climb onto his lap and fuck him, and Medea felt her pulse jump just a bit. He gave her a knowing look, which eventually changed to expectant. 

 _Of course_.

If he was cuffed he could not undress her. Could not reach out to her.  

“Want me… naked?” She asked, and was frankly surprised her voice did not waver. 

“Yes.” 

He watched her intently, eyes tracking each piece of clothing as it fell to the floor. She felt like maybe she ought to be embarrassed, but she just… was not. The way his gaze traced over every line of her body was almost as good as a physical caress. 

Bare now, she stood before him, slightly between his knees. She could see the heaving of his chest. Erect cock flushed. 

Her hand traveled from Grøh’s mouth, down his neck, across scars and down to his navel. 

“How do you want me to…?” 

Back in her village, before all of this, one of Medea’s most frequent clients had been a courtesan. She had shown Medea all sorts of things that she had never been certain would be useful until the last few minutes. She had options. She just was not sure what he would prefer. What he would like. 

“Your… decision.” His voice was strained, and she was close enough that when he pitched his head forward his lips landed very near her left nipple. The tip of his tongue touched it gently. 

“I told you not to make it all about me.” Her hands tangled in the back of his silvery hair, and she heard the clatter of the shackles straining. He wanted to touch her. 

Wanted to, but had already decided he would not ask. 

“I want all of you.” The insides of her thighs were damp with want.

Gently Medea pushed him back into the chair, his lower half sliding forward just a bit more, and swiftly she mounted him, sank down with a moan. She had grown used to being the partner on top, but knowing that he would not be able to touch her, would not easily be able to move at all, made her imagination that much more potent. 

Having such control over her pleasure was… intoxicating. 

But Grøh. She wanted Grøh to enjoy it as much as possible, considering his predicament. 

“Does it… feel good?” She did not _really_ have to ask, the growly, groaning, panting sounds he was making let her know that it was working for him. But she wanted him to get used to talking to her, wanted to encourage him to tell her what he felt. She wanted to learn how best to navigate this new facet of their relationship. 

Did he want to be touched more? Did he want to touch her more? Faster, slower, maybe if he was restrained he would like to be on top again? All things she needed to learn. All things she wished to learn. 

“Yes,” he growled the word out against her shoulder where his head had fallen. “Feels good.” 

For now, the basics would do. She moved for both of them, which was surprisingly more tiring than she had expected, even when he was holding himself back, Grøh would move her with his hands, or aid her motion with his own. It might have been easier if the chair was just a bit wider also. 

She was gasping for breath, but it was not all tiredness. 

He had told her that he was emotional and irrational when she was involved. She was beginning to understand that in a way she was the same. She had always been most… passionate, for the things that involved Grøh. 

Her hands on his shoulders, she could feel him tensing, nearing completion. 

He stared up at her, eyes locked, intent, unwavering. Like he could see into her soul, like she could see into his. The fingers of one hand tangled into his hair, her lips on his, devouring his mouth in a possessive kiss, their harsh breathing almost matching in rhythm. His jaw was tight, and Grøh tipped his head, breaking the kiss on a rough gasp, his back bowing, the muscles in his legs under her going taught, giving everything over to her, his gaze never leaving hers. 

Medea’s fingers slid down between their bodies, teasing herself the little bit extra he always had to set her off. 

The result was an off-balance, ultimately sort of risky orgasm where she had to tightly cling to Grøh lest she slide backwards off his lap to the floor. 

She suspected he did not mind, and, still intimately joined, they sat panting for breath together for several minutes. 

“Perhaps we should find a bigger chair next time,” Grøh commented suddenly, and Medea could not help but chuckle. It had been a little more complicated than she had first envisioned. And now her legs were just dangling on either side of him. 

“Maybe.” She agreed, kissing near his ear. “Let me unlock you.” 

“Mm. In a moment.” He shook his head, nuzzling his face against her neck. 

Hm. It seemed strange to her, but perhaps he simply did not feel completely himself yet? She had promised herself she would take his lead in this, so for now she left them on. She occupied herself playing with stray strands of hair at the back of his head. 

“Was that… alright?” He asked after an extended silence. 

“Yes. I told you, you worry too much Grøh. We will make it work however we need to.” She kissed his temple again. “Please let me unlock you? I like it when you hold me.” 

“Oh. Of course.” 

Happily she slid off his lap, fetching the key from the side table. He leaned forward so she could reach the locks. 

“Oh! Your poor wrists.” The shackles had rubbed him almost raw, the skin had not broken that she could see, but it was an angry red. She had not realized how hard he must have been struggling against them, and she chastised herself for not even noticing how much pain he must have been in. “Let me make an ointment for that-”

“Medea.” He grabbed her hand before she had even made it two steps to her bag and herb kit, tugging her back into his lap. “My wrists are fine. Let me cuddle you.” 

For some reason the word “cuddle” coming out of Grøh’s mouth was absolutely hilarious to Medea and she giggled madly even as he pressed an intimate kiss over her heart, arms wrapping securely around her waist. 

“Thank you.” He said then, sincerity evident in every part of his expression. “For your acceptance.” 

“I only want for… things to work.” She smiled softly, petting his hair. “Which, my love, I have been thinking about.”

“How so?” 

“I know you will not maybe… agree, but I have been thinking about what Taki said. About Sophitia. It will take us very close to Aval’s headquarters, but I think perhaps we should return to Athens. I know you struggle, I could not fully remove the malfestation even with Soul Calibur, but perhaps… Sophitia could. I have seen her powers, I saw her cure a man completely. It had not occurred to me before. Do you think that may be worthwhile?” 

She scooted back onto his knees a little to better observe his face.  Grøh seemed… conflicted. 

“You are concerned I will give in again.” 

“ _You_ are concerned you will, and so I am concerned about you.” 

He was silent for a few long moments, and then unceremoniously stood, hands beneath her thighs, holding her tight to him to carry her to the bed. He left the shackles where they had fallen on the floor. 

Grøh set Medea in the bed first, and then crawled in beside her. “We will go the Athens.” 

“Only if you want to try, Grøh.” She cupped his cheek gently. “I understand if you do not wish to involve someone else. I only want what is best for you.” 

“For you I will try.” 

Medea sighed softly. It seemed no matter how often she asked him not to make everything about her, he was devoted to it.

“Consider it for a few days, alright? I am… alright with whatever you decide. The shackles are a little different, for me, but they work.” 

Selfishly, she supposed, she wished that Sophitia would be able to do what she could not. The fact that Grøh felt like he needed to be chained up like some sort of animal was still a little… disconcerting to her. She had not lied, of course, it was functional and admittedly… enjoyable, if a little strange still, but she also knew Grøh was not a man who did things in half measures. She worried it was only a matter of time before his self-doubt and overprotective nature had him putting her hands back on his neck. 

Because eventually the newness would wear off, he would grow used to the cuffs, and he would no longer feel safe with only them. 

*** 

Grøh was not with her in the morning, and while Medea’s first instinct was to immediately search for him, she withheld. 

He would return in his own time, she could not begrudge him needing personal space considering all that had transpired. Though it did make her realize she had not been alone and not known exactly where Grøh was in weeks, she was not quite sure what to do with herself. Even when he got up with his nightmares, he always hovered nearby. 

Medea resolved that she too could probably use a few moments alone, time to truly contemplate what their next steps would be. 

She fetched herself breakfast, made tea, and sat at the small table under the inn room’s single window. 

It only took a few bites for her to fall into her thoughts to the point of mostly picking off bits to share with a little flock of birds that had joined her on the window sill. Medea had always had an affinity for birds, and they had always been unusually friendly with her in return. She wasn’t sure what species they were, little sparrows of some sort, fluttering around her fingers as she scattered the crumbs for them. 

She knew a spell that allowed one to see through a bird’s eyes, if they were willing to share their sight. She considered it now, to find Grøh. He had been gone for almost an hour, and that was only as long as she had been awake. She was unsure when he had gotten up or how long ago he had left. 

Medea scolded herself for the thought instantly. That was unnecessarily overbearing of her. He certainly did not need her hovering over him through magical means. Spying on him. 

She only… worried. Worried that, like the shackles, he would take other extreme measures without telling her. Not that she thought or expected that he should consult with her on every decision, or make only those that aligned with her own, but she hated the thought of him suffering alone. Hiding it from her. 

She could not help if he kept her in the dark. 

And then… could she even help? Even using Soul Calibur is seemed as though she had only delayed the inevitable. If Grøh was already starting to feel as if he was relapsing into something like… like the Black Demon, how much longer could she expect him to hold on to his sanity? Would Soul Calibur work multiple times, or eventually would even that prove useless? 

Her only hope, it seemed, of truly saving Grøh was to hope that Sophitia was perhaps… more powerful than she. The thought pained her heart with an odd sort of jealousy that she could not explain; and she felt guilty for feeling that way. 

It was Grøh’s decision regardless. She would force nothing upon him. 

A few more crumbs went to her sparrows, and they scattered when the door swung open, Grøh standing on the threshold and looking oddly… shame-faced. As if he had been caught sneaking. She noticed that his gauntlet had apparently been completed, as he was wearing a new one. 

It was plainly  incongruent with his casual clothes. 

“Good… morning,” He said slowly, stepping into the room. 

“Morning, love.” She smiled, darker thoughts fading with the comfort of his presence. He moved to the table, took the chair opposite. Grøh’s eyes watched the sparrows circling near the window with a hint of amusement. 

“You made some friends I see.” 

“I bribed them.” She nudged the plate of bread and cheese across the table slightly. “Would you like to feed them?” 

“Why?” He seemed genuinely confused by the suggestion. 

Medea smiled a little wider. She supposed she should have expected that he was not the type to have ever participated in things like smelling the roses or feeding birds just to hear them sing. “No reason, I suppose.” 

Absently he picked up a piece of bread crumbling it in between his fingers, placing them onto the window sill. The birds came nearer, but none landed. 

“I think I may scare them,” his tone was sardonic, tossing the crust back onto the plate.

“Birds are skittish at first,” Medea smiled, drawing her foot up into the chair to rest her chin on her knee. Quiet fell for a moment. “How do you feel?” 

“Why?” The question this time was too quick, almost suspicious. 

“Gauntlet.” 

“It was done.” 

“Do you feel better? Now that you have it?” He glanced down at his metal-encased fingers thoughtfully. The gauntlet looked very, very similar to the one he had worn before, with some subtle differences. The edges a little smoother, more organic looking, clearly designed as much for his comfort as containment. Azwel obviously would not  have cared whether the gauntlet fit well or not, not after all the harm he had already caused Grøh with his experiments. She was glad Bolta had. 

“It is too soon to tell,” Grøh concluded after a moment, his fingers closing into fists where they rested on the edge of the table. “For now it is tame. Being with you is… that is the true test.”

Medea’s fingers made a slow journey across the table, brushing the metal knuckle joint of his thumb. His grip loosened slowly, turning his hand over, palm up. When her hand settled against his Grøh gripped it lightly. It was a strange contrast between cold metal and the warmth of his skin she could still detect through the leather of the glove. Or at least, she assumed it was leather. 

Bolta, she knew, had a penchant for unusual material. She had helped her collect a great deal of it. 

For a long moment, they sat that way, fingers woven together, palm to palm, a moment of peace. So peaceful that even the sparrows had started to hop around the window again, collecting the food Grøh had set out for them. 

“Aerondight will be done tomorrow,” He said, unprompted, “And then we can leave for Athens.” 

Medea held in a sigh, uncertain if she was relieved, or dreaded the idea that he too felt like she alone could not help him. His fingers around hers tightened. 

“I want you to feel… safe with me again. Without restraints, without the gauntlet… the way we were. We may never have that again but I want…  I must try.”

“I do. No matter what happens, what you need, I will be here. With you. Until the end.” She bent her head, kissed his smallest finger where it was latched under her thumb. Grøh lifted their hands, returning the gesture to her pinky finger. 

“Until the end.” 


	4. Jormungand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Listen. This thing is basically writing itself at this point. It’s got a playlist.   
> I just divide it up by page length.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At least one more chapter. Perhaps two, depending.   
> This chapter is a lot of Medea kinda doing her own thing, and talking an awful lot about her. I get more and more invested in her as time goes by.   
> *Note: I do not claim in any way shape or form to be an expert on witchcraft, so please excuse my self-indulgent tidbit. It’s based on a combination of personal experience and reading, so I claim nothing to accuracy, let alone for the time period. 
> 
> P.S I apologize for formatting issues. I do this almost exclusively on mobile. It’s very uncooperative.

They had not planned to say in Kashgar for more than a week or so. Which meant that their retreat was drawing to a close. 

Grøh would have preferred to spend the time quietly into their room, would have preferred to keep Medea all to himself. 

Alas, he could not ignore her wisdom in resupplying at the bazaar before what they both knew was going to be an… arduous journey  back to Athens, dangerously close to Aval headquarters. 

He was not sure how he felt about it. He had never been particularly… nostalgic for it, but he had spent a great deal of his life with Aval, a great deal of his life in Athens. Would it feel like going home? Or would it feel like treading into hell? Medea put up an excellent front of being unconcerned, but he could almost feel a buzz of nervousness that surrounded her. She reached out and touched him frequently, just little brushes, her fingers against his, lightly bumping her shoulder into his. As if to reassure herself he was still there. 

Or perhaps she was merely checking to see if he was still… himself. 

Grøh banished the thought at once. That was his doubt. Not hers. Medea… believed in him, though some days he could hardly fathom why. 

The shackles had remained in the bottom of his pack, they had not needed them now that he had his usual restraint. Though he expected she felt no better about only half undressing him so that the gauntlet could stay secure last night. 

He took a modicum of comfort that at least having his hands free meant he could properly return her love. 

She was haggling with the spice merchant over a bundle of leaves, and while his first impulse was to break the finger the merchant was waving in her face, he instead watched her argue right back with a little hint of pride glowing in his chest. She had been so meek when he first met her, quiet and nervous. Medea had spent the first days she had been at Aval hovering ever in his shadow, and it occurred to him suddenly that even then, she had treated him differently than most. Like Curtis, no matter how dark or surly he had been, Medea had seen good in him. Whatever tiny spark remained. 

Medea turned away from the merchant stall with her prize held tightly in both hands. She smiled widely at Grøh, clearly proud of her herself. 

“Won, did you?” He asked her, feeling a lightness in his heart that only ever happened when she smiled. 

“That man wants an exorbitant sum for tea leaves.” 

“You did that much yelling over tea?” 

“I did not yell,” she admonished, though he could nearly hear the smile in her voice as she tucked the leaves into a packet, and then again into her bag. He was sure she had it organized somehow, he had never pretended to understand. “And if I had, good tea is worth it!”

Her hand slipped through his elbow, and they started off down the street together, arm in arm. Grøh watched her from the corner of his eye, though he could scarcely see around the brim of her hat. 

Kashgar was not home, it was, in general, an unfamiliar city to him. But the days he had spent here with Medea, going to bed with her every night, waking up with her every morning… it felt more like home than anywhere else had in a long time. The life they had lived the last few days felt… domestic. 

He wondered then, if it may be something like the future. The one he wanted with her. 

Was she happy with it, the way things were? Or did she desire more? He supposed he had never given thought to the details, being with Medea had been the end-all, be-all of his plan for the rest of his life. What if that -simply being- was not all she wanted? 

They had never discussed anything more than what they were. There were some things that went beyond their promise to one another. A true home, one they made for themselves, marriage, something legal and binding in the eyes of others… children? 

The last thought shocked him. Grøh had never remotely considered children before. He had never expected to survive this long, had never expected to have found someone like her. It had never even passed his fancy that he might desire such a thing before this moment.

He had no idea what went into raising children, and it occurred to him abruptly that they had not exactly been careful thus far. Certainly if she knew she might be with child, Medea would have told him. Was it too soon to tell or…? 

Maybe she knew ways to prevent it through some magical means or a potion. 

He was certain beyond all doubt that Medea would be a wonderful mother. As a father himself he had… less assurance. And even presuming he would not be terrible at being a parent, there was the matter of never knowing the full extent of what Azwel’s expermients had done to him. 

Perhaps it was not even a possibility. 

Medea glanced at him, no doubt sensing that he was looking at her, and he had the strangest impression that she too was thinking of the future. 

Her arm tightened around his, snugging herself close to her side. 

“Grøh?” 

“Just thinking. No need to worry.” 

“Thinking about what?” 

“That I love you,” He said simply, as it was not far from the truth, and pressed a kiss to her temple, bumping her hat to a jaunty angle in the process. 

“Fine, tell me nothing then,” She said it in a stern tone, but grinned at the same time, pushing her hat back straight. “Love you.” 

She said it the same as she had days ago. Weeks ago in the tent in the middle of that damn field in the tundra. Looked at him the same way she had before the ravine, the same way she always had. 

He knew that to have that proper future, the one he wanted for her, he had to hope that there was something to be done besides attempt to restrain his malady. 

 

With Aerondight done, he could stall no longer. 

Medea had never pressed him beyond her initial suggestion, and he knew that if he said nothing, they would stay here as long as he wished. 

She did not seem at all concerned that he might relapse, though she had started brewing up some rather… pungent teas that were apparently meant to help. He was not yet certain they did, and though he did not mind the taste exactly, he often managed to persuade her that he needed a kiss to get rid of it afterwards. 

And she had added her own touch to the limiter gauntlet, sigils of ink drawn on the front and back of his shoulder. She never told him what sort of ink it was, but it was dark, and seemed to never fade. 

After she had finished, he had felt… comforted. The marks on his skin bringing him solace almost as easily as having her arms coiled around him. He felt her presence in the glyphs as surely as he felt her physically touch him. 

Strange to think of the difference between a mark she left on him and the scars Azwel had left him with. 

She had never cut in to him, torn him apart at the seams, she had never taken anything away from him. 

Medea had always given. Given him what he had never known he wanted or needed before. 

“You keep making that same broody expression.” Medea interrupted his reverie, nudging his foot with her own lightly under the table. Her chin rested in one hand, the fingers of the other marking her place in the tome she had been poring over the last few days. She had carried the book as long as Grøh had known her, the only piece of her home she had absolutely refused to leave behind no matter the circumstances. Some of it was in a language he did not understand, the letters utterly foreign. 

Natalie had observed her writing in it from time to time, and so he had… pried, thinking perhaps it would give him some insight to the strange creature she had seemed to him back then. 

It had only succeeded in confusing him further. 

He knew he was stalling by not voicing his original thoughts, but he was not yet ready to discuss leaving Kashgar. Leaving this tenuous bit of peace behind. 

It would fade eventually. He wanted to savor it for now. 

“What is that book, exactly?” 

She smirked a little at him. “You read it, correct? Do you have a guess?” 

He looked away, felt an uncharacteristic heat on his cheeks. He should have known she would know. 

“I do not.” He confessed after a moment, when he realized she was going to keep smiling cheekily at him until he admitted the truth. 

“A grimoire. My Book of Shadows. You were not wrong in thinking it like a journal. Only it is a journal passed down, each member of my family to inherit it adds their own spells, dreams, advice to the next progeny, magic.” 

“Your mother gave it to you then.” 

“Right.” She nodded and smiled fondly. “Just before I left home. She said I would need it more than she, I did not understand what she meant at first.” 

“Did you find any answers?” 

“Nothing solid yet. It is a  _ very  _ long book,” Medea chuckled. 

The markings she had drawn on him came from somewhere in those pages; and maybe it was only his own peace of mind, but he felt like they worked. 

Perhaps they did not need Sophitia after all? He need only hold out until she found some secret from her ancestors that could… fix him. 

Permanently. 

“Your mother-” he started, but stopped again swiftly. They had discussed Medea’s family only briefly. And only in the past. He did not know if Medea had even been able to keep in contact with them at Aval. 

It had not seemed important to know then, because he had not cared for her the way he did now. 

“She is well,” Medea answered his unspoken question. Her head leaned a little more into a tilt, like a curious cat, her eyes wandering his face. “She would like very much to meet you.” 

“You… you told her about me? What did you- how did you explain-”

Medea made a little huff that was something like a laugh she attempted to smother. 

“Calm down, love. She has no reason to dislike you.”

Grøh could think of at least a thousand reasons. 

“Besides, I never really… told her. My mother has this… way about her. Of knowing things, sometimes it seems like she knows everything. I expect she knew what you meant to me even before I did. Sadly I never inherited that skill.”

He supposed it should have been obvious that Medea’s mother was also a witch, but he realized he had never confirmed it. 

“She was near Rome last we spoke. Something about meeting a pirate.” Medea grinned slightly, as though it was not uncommon for her mother to cavort about with scoundrels. 

So maybe he really did have little to fear of her mother despising him on sight. 

“We can go see her when you are… better prepared. My mother is a fair bit eccentric,” Medea said it with a fondness in her tone.  

“Maybe when we… find a cure.” Grøh suggested. 

“If there is one.” 

Did that mean she thought there truly was no chance of him ever becoming human again? 

He felt his brows furrow, and Medea’s face softened, her hand leaving her book to rest on his instead. “Not like that. I only mean… things are fine as they are. We need not take it away completely, only… keep it dormant. It is not simply a matter of curing you or killing you, surely there is something...” 

“I would rather it gone.” Grøh heard a bitter tone sneaking into his voice. Something flitted across her expression, something he could not identify. Medea’s fingers tightened over his slightly.

“And if… if that means you would not… live?” 

“Ah.” Something he had also been toying with. A definite possibility. Much as he hated the monster inside, it had kept him alive through a great deal. There was a chance it was in fact the  _ only  _ thing keeping him alive. “There are not many options, it is only a question of which we choose.” 

He had already made his choice. If they carried on as they were, this illusion of normality, that he was in control as long as they were careful, it would mean suffering. They would suffer. By the end it would break him and he would be a demon once more, if he did not hurt her first and force her hand. Death while he was still mostly human would be simpler. If a true cure killed him, it would be for the better. 

Better to risk all for the small chance than to play with fire until it burned her. 

“What do you want? Truly? Not what you think I want, or what you think will protect me.” Medea pressed, her voice gentle, wavering with a hint of fear. 

He took a breath. “Even if it kills me, I want to be certain. That there is no way to undo what Azwel did.” 

He hated what Azwel had made of him, but had never sought out ways to return himself to being fully human. He had, he supposed, stopped caring whether he lived or died, it had only been a matter of time then, a matter of taking as many other malfested to the grave with him as he could. 

Now he had a reason. Azwel could not have the remainder of his life, it belonged to her, and only her. 

Whether a few more days or a few more years. 

Medea swiped her free hand under her eyes, though he could detect no tears. 

“I understand.” She nodded solemnly. “Then we will keep searching for answers.” 

“Sophitia would be as good a place as any to begin.” 

“Yes.” She seemed unenthused. Something in her tone… 

“Medea?” 

She glanced at him, away, and scoffed. “May I confess something?” 

“Of course.” Grøh nodded. 

“Selfishly I… I think I will be jealous if she can help you when I could not.” 

Oddly, the idea made him smile and made his heart ache in the same breath. 

“I will always be yours.” 

She smiled again when she looked at him, but with a sort of wryness to it. “I suppose I also… hate the idea of someone else touching you, even to help. I want to keep you all to myself.” 

A chuckle escaped him, and Grøh could not help but think it sounded like a rusty hinge. He genuinely could not remember the last time he had laughed. It was an utterly foreign noise coming out of his own mouth. 

 And yet, there was something so terribly endearing about the possessive streak he had never known her to have. 

Medea blinked at him in blatant surprise. 

“What if I promise to hate it?” 

“That I can accept,” she laughed back, shaking her head slightly. She rubbed her eyes again, as if expecting tears that never came. “Whatever it takes, Grøh.” 

“Thank you… love.” Though she called him that all the time, Grøh still felt strange saying it. He had never said it before Medea, and certainly never felt it. Never meant it. He liked that whenever he did, she smiled a little. 

And he liked it even more that in this particular instance, it had her rising from her chair, circling the table, and settling on his lap where he could happily lay his chin on her shoulder when she went back to reading, his hands curled lightly over her hips, selfishly imagining what it might be like to have this for many years to come. 

Whatever was to happen, he was grateful to have had moments like these, with her. 

 

That night he could barely sleep, laying in bed with Medea beside him, her head in the crook of his shoulder, and her arm banded tightly around his ribs. 

The malfestation had always made him restless, but this was different. 

Things had changed. He had changed. For the better, he was fairly certain. Grøh was anxious, nevertheless. Not so much for what may happen to him over this next part of their journey, but because he knew that if Medea had not seen him at his worst before, she was certainly about to.  

He was not confident he could control the malfestation if it acted defensively when they tried to remove it. He could already feel it clawing at him, protesting, rebelling that he would dare try to remove it. 

He must keep her safe, no matter what. 

***

 

A sinking sense of dread had started to settle in Medea’s stomach, and she knew Grøh was starting to feel the same. He was always within arm’s reach of her, always at her side, almost always touching her. 

Her grimoire had not yet given her any answers. Their future resided cleanly on Sophitia’s shoulders, which was not a feeling she liked. 

They opted not to risk renting a room in a city where people might know them, Grøh certainly was fairly recognizable, and so instead they camped outside the gates, away from the road. Medea made trips into Athens proper, asking around for information on Sophitia. She was fairly certain she could locate her, but it was more a matter of how exactly to approach it. 

_ Hello we met before, I saw you cure malfestation with a touch do you think you might be able to save my lover as well?  _

Medea shook her head to herself with a faint smile, huddled near the fire with her Grimoire tilted to best catch the light. She would still like to believe there was an answer somewhere in the secrets of her family, that there was a way to help Grøh without involving more people than necessary. The fewer people to know what had happened to him, the fewer risks there were that Aval would become involved and more than likely attempt to kill him. 

Particularly while they were so near the headquarters. 

She glanced up from her reading at Grøh, sitting so closely next to her on the blanket laid out on the grass that his shoulder was touching hers. His posture was almost… meditative, his legs crossed and his hands in his lap, staring at the fire. 

His right hand was curled over his own wrist. Medea had noticed him doing that… perhaps a little too often for comfort. As if he was afraid that if he did not physically restrain his hand it may lash out unexpectedly. 

Medea guessed he was thinking of the shackles by the way his eyes had been drifting to his pack constantly the last couple of days, but he had not asked for them. He had not, but he also had taken to standing guard outside the tent instead of sleeping beside her. 

Being so close to Aval must be stirring up… something. Memories? Fears? Anger? 

To know that all he had given to the organization, all he had sacrificed, the years upon years of loyalty would amount to nothing if they found him now. Natalie and Dion, perhaps, would give him a chance, spare him at least enough sympathy to let him keep his life, but the others… to them he was an Outsider. Nothing more, worthy only of death. 

It made Medea angry and they had not even been her sacrifices. 

His gaze shifted in her direction. 

“What is it?” 

“Nothing.” She shook her head, leaning her shoulder against his lightly. He was as sturdy as ever, as calm and cool, but she knew that it might not be the case in his heart or his head. There was no need to bring up her own worries and add to his. Grøh tugged her hat off and turned his head enough to rest his lips against her hair, seeming content to rest like that for long enough that she began to wonder if he had fallen asleep. 

“Did you ever tell Dion and Natalie that you found me?” He asked after a while, breaking the silence. The words ruffled her hair gently. 

“I… I did not. I thought it safer.” In fact, she had never returned or written to tell them… anything. She had gotten so absorbed in having Grøh back, being with him. She wondered if perhaps they had simply assumed that she perished in her search for him. She had never told Natalie that she intended to save him, Dion had… probably known. She was not certain they knew about the night before the battle with Azwel, but Dion had hinted that he was aware that her feelings for Grøh went beyond simple camaraderie.  

“A wise choice.” 

“Why do you ask?” 

“Aval keeps constant watch over incidents involving Soul Edge. More than likely they would know where to find her.” 

“Hm. It seems… a risk. To involve them at all.” 

“You promised.” 

“What?” 

“That if I fall again you would turn me over to them.” 

Medea balked, she had almost forgotten that promise. Shamefully, she could admit to herself that it was yet another promise to him she could not keep. She had made it only because she saw no other way to avoid losing him again. She had known then that even if she wanted him to stay, would have begged him, Grøh would have walked away that day without her promise. To make sure he never hurt her. 

She had no intention of ever letting Aval get their hands on him again. 

Still… 

“I did. And you have not. So why does it matter?” 

“I may… get worse. We may need to alert them.” 

Medea sighed, resisted the urge to immediately deny it. She closed her Grimoire and set it aside, folding her hands together in her lap. 

“Trying to get rid of it could… make it flare up?” She guessed, wanting, more than anything, to try and understand. The more she understood, the better chance she had of helping. 

“Perhaps. I have… never tried to undo it before.” Grøh lifted his head from where it had been resting against hers, went back to looking thoughtfully into the flames. “If it does, Aval should be aware of the threat. They will be best equipped to… put me down.” 

Medea bit down into her lip lightly, knowing that even if she argued, Grøh believed it was the right choice. He had resigned himself to die long ago, long before she had ever met him. She was not certain she would ever convince him otherwise, but she fully intended to try. 

“I never… I never told Dion or Natalie anything. I was afraid that they… I knew they would come after you. Even if I could prove you were no longer the Black Demon, they would still hunt you. Kill you. Because of…” It need not be said, but her fingers brushed the back of his gauntlet. His hand balled into a fist under her touch. 

“More than likely.” He nodded. Grøh sighed, and then turned to fully look at her. “If this goes badly, you must accept their judgement, Medea. Aval’s duty has always been to protect people, you will disagree because it is me, but they know what must be done with Malfested.” 

“They never even sought a cure, killing them, killing you can not be the only answer-”

“Medea.” His voice was stern, left no room for argument. A lump lodged in her throat, difficult to speak around, difficult to breathe, she stared hard at her hands in her lap.

“I just… want you to live.” 

Grøh’s fingers wandered through her hair, curled around the back of her head to gently tip her face back up to him. His eyes were soft, but focused on hers, 

“No matter what happens, I regret none of it. Even if this is all the time I have, what I spent with you was more than I ever could have asked for, more than I deserved. I need nothing else in my life.” 

“Why does this sound so much like a farewell?” It came out broken around the lump. 

“I told you nothing last time. Nothing of what was in my heart. I must tell you now. So that you will know, even if I lose myself again.” 

“Grøh,  the least you could do is  _ try  _ to believe.” She sighed, leaning until her forehead brushed his. His gaze was still so intense, unwavering. Like he was memorizing her face down to the tiniest detail. “You have so little faith in yourself. We will fix this, and you will stay with me.” 

“Understood.” He said it firmly, but she felt perhaps that he was merely agreeing with her out of habit. 

“I love you.” 

“And I, you.” His hand still behind her head, Grøh kissed her, soft, tender, sentimental and meaningful. Gentle in a way she knew that no one would ever think him capable of just by looking at him, knowing what else he was capable of. She had always known, had always felt that his soul was not so corrupted as even he believed. 

There was still so much goodness in him, so much nobility. She could not allow him to forget it. 

 

Despite her best efforts to avoid them up until now, Medea knew that it had come time to finally face Aval. Or at least, Dion and Natalie. Not so much for the purpose of finding Sophitia as Grøh suggested, she was confident she had a decent lead on that front, but to gauge how much a threat they may be in the event of someone catching sight of her lover and knowing who or what he was. 

It gave her a leaden feeling in her stomach to walk a path that had once been second nature to her. She expected them to know she was coming, and so was not surprised to find Dion and Natalie both waiting at the gates to the complex. 

Dion was the first to act, as he often was, rushing up to her eagerly. When he saw that she was alone, his face fell, but only slightly. 

“Sir Grøh?” 

Medea shook her head. “He is no longer the Black Demon but… I lost him after that. I know not what became of him.” 

She hoped it was a convincing enough lie, seeing as he was less than a twenty minute walk away. 

Natalie gave her a scrupulous look. She had always been the more suspicious of the two, the more serious. Truthfully, sometimes Natalie reminded Medea a bit of Grøh. 

“Your intent was to kill him. And instead you… cured him.” 

“I never said I planned to kill him. I wanted to save Grøh,” Medea stated, and then immediately schooled herself to stop reacting defensively. It was true that she had planned to save him, but at the time she had… she had been prepared to end his life if she failed. She had locked away what she felt for him, accepted that he might no longer be there. That the monster had destroyed his very being and he was nothing but an empty shell. “But it hardly matters. He is gone now regardless.” 

“Hm.” Natalie crossed her arms and looked away, and Medea was not quite certain what to make of the expression on her face. Something between sadness and… relief. “That is probably for the better. As an Outsider he may still be a threat. He must be dealt with eventually. Properly.” 

Medea felt her shoulders squaring but said nothing. If nothing else, that confirmed her feelings that Aval could not know about Grøh unless there was no other option. They would still attempt to kill him on sight, and she felt in her heart that Grøh likely would not fight back if they did. 

Not when he already believed himself potentially beyond saving. 

“Perhaps,” She answered Natalie. She had never harbored a delusion that Grøh would be able to return to Aval, but she had hoped that perhaps his years of service would have earned him the benefit of the doubt. If even Natalie who had served directly under him saw no reason to try and save him, there was little hope for the rest of the organization. “That is all I came to tell you.” 

“You are… not staying?” Dion seemed surprised. 

“No. For now our mission is concluded. Azwel is dead, the fissures are appearing more slowly, and Grøh is… gone. You have no need of me.” Medea shook her head and smiled at Dion, who had always seemed far too kind to be a part of Aval to her. “My part in this is… over, I think.” 

“Where will you go?” 

Unbidden, Medea pictured her home, in the forest in the west. But now, no longer so empty and lonely. She envisioned the cabin with Grøh in the garden, finally getting rid of the stone that had always simply been too heavy for her to lift on her own, Grøh venturing into the woods with her to gather new herbs, ever watchful, a rather comical image of him at her clan’s Beltane gathering, holding the end of a colored ribbon and looking utterly baffled by the maypole dance. 

It was so vivid that Medea felt her heart clench briefly.  Was it... possible? To make that dream a reality? 

“I have not decided.” She told Dion. No matter what she hoped for, nothing was certain. For now it was only a matter of living through each moment. “But if more fissures occur, you can call on me to help.” 

And if she faded from Aval’s history completely, she had no regrets on that front either. 

Dion sighed heavily. “I am… sorry about Sir Grøh. Sorry that you had to face him. I know that you and he-”

“It matters not,” Medea interrupted. She hated to lie to Dion, but she must. “I did what must be done.” 

She could feel Natalie’s piercing stare, and opted not to make eye contact. She gripped Dion’s hand lightly in her own. 

“Thank you. For all that you have done for me. I would not have survived alone. I think that for now I will… I will go home. I have missed home.” 

“You deserve it.” Medea was surprised that the approval came from Natalie. The other woman smiled at her softly. “You never asked for any of this. I know he was the one who persuaded you to stay, and if he is no longer…” 

She trailed off, and Medea realized that perhaps what was between her and Grøh had been more obvious than she had first thought. 

“Whenever you need me.” Medea promised. “I owe you both a great deal. If I can still assist… I will help.” 

“Thank you.” 

 

Medea felt marginally better about leaving Aval than she had going in, and also assured that it would be best to keep well out of their sight. There was no sympathy there for Grøh, no love lost despite all he had given to the organization. 

She headed for the market district after leaving the complex, following up on her second mission. 

Of all things, she never would have expected Sophitia to be a baker. With her skills? Then, Medea supposed Aval had never expected their main weapon against the fissures to be a hermit who had lived mostly alone in the woods before the exposure to astral chaos. 

It seemed that sometimes you found surprising things in surprising places. 

She had to ask for directions twice more, but eventually did end up before what was definitely a bakery, “Alexandra” posted by the door if Medea’s ability to read Greek was any good. 

She took a breath, noticed that it smelled delicious, and stepped inside, not entirely sure what to expect or how she was supposed to go about asking for help. 

The girl behind the counter -perhaps girl was inaccurate, she was at least in her twenties, but her exceptionally large green eyes made her seem younger- was most certainly a sibling of Sophitia. 

“Good morning!” Her greeting was genuinely cheerful, if a bit forceful. “What can I get you?” 

“Actually I was hoping I might speak with Sophitia.” 

The girl’s eyes narrowed. “What for?” 

“We met while traveling. I had hoped to seek her help, she may be able to save… someone dear to me.” Medea was not sure precisely what title to apply to Grøh, and left it as that for now. 

“Yeah, well she left-” the girl’s tone started to get aggressive, and Medea plaintively raised her hands, half-expecting to be thrown out, before a much gentler voice spoke from a door she assumed lead to the back rooms. 

“Cassandra. It is alright, I know this one.” 

Even as kindly as she spoke, Cassandra promptly closed her mouth at her elder sister’s request. 

“Sorry, sis.” 

“Apologies, Cassandra is a bit protective.” Sophitia smile. “How are you, Medea?” 

“I can understand that.” Medea smiled back. She had no doubt dozens of people came to Sophitia seeking help. Her gift to purge Malfestation was… astounding. Worthy of renown. “I was hoping we might… talk.” 

Sophitia had never sought anything in return, not recognition, not reward. She had only wanted peace. She felt awful for disturbing it with such a personal request. 

“Come, speak with me.” Sophitia waved her through the door, Medea following, passed Cassandra who watched her with the same reproachful eyes as before. “I heard you defeated the Evil Seed,” Sophitia stated, showing Medea to what was probably meant to be a work table but served just as well as a bench for the two women, wine appearing from somewhere underneath, along with two wooden cups. 

“I believe he called it the Ultimate Seed. Not that it makes that much difference.” Deadly either way, worth stopping either way. 

“What matters is that for now the threat has ended.” Sophitia sipped her wine. “Evil Seed, Ultimate Seed, both are laid to rest for now. This is a chance to rebuild lives, find happiness we could not before.” Her smile suddenly grew immensely fond. “I am to be married soon, now that my mission is complete.” 

“Oh, congratulations,” Medea said, earnestly meaning it. Sophitia seemed genuinely happy and eager, which in her experience tended to be a rare thing when it came to marriage. 

“Thank you. I do… love him. Rothion. That is partly why Cassandra has gotten so protective. She wants to make sure nothing interrupts us this time.” Another fond smile, and then Sophitia’s eyes drifted to Medea and her brows furrowed slightly. “But… you did not come here to discuss past victories and my betrothal.” 

“No. Afraid I did not.” Medea sighed. “I actually came… seeking your help.” 

“I am not sure what I could possibly help you with that you could not do yourself… Soul Calibur chose you, did it not?” 

“Yes but… but it seems simply being chosen was not enough.” 

“Tell me,” Sophitia’s hand was gentle on her arm, and she refilled Medea’s drink as if knowing it might be a rough story. 

“I almost… I  _ did  _ lose someone I am very close to. For awhile. He was… malfested, corrupted by wounds from Nightmare.” Medea saw Sophitia subconsciously brush her fingers along her own collar bone, her eyes suddenly seeming distant. She glanced at Medea after a moment with a nod to continue. “And it was made worse by someone who was using him to… study malfestation. I was able to bring him back to his senses, but not remove the evil completely. I am afraid that… if I truly unleash Soul Calibur it will destroy him, I-”

“You wish to save him. Because you care for him.” 

“Yes.” Medea nodded. The same lump from last night was starting to form again. “I felt the power when I used it the first time. It would tear him apart. It nearly did. I held it back, but that means it was only temporary, and I find myself risking losing him again. You… I saw you purify someone without the sword. Without doing them any harm, I had hoped-”

“The power is a gift from the gods, but it is not foolproof. Not promised.” Sophitia said it softly, but even so Medea felt like she had taken a hammer to her chest. 

“I… see.” 

“And if his corruption is as complete as you say, that Soul Calibur almost killed him, it may already be too late.” 

“Oh…” she knew it came out barely more than a sob, pressed her hand to her mouth, tried to hold back the inevitable sound of her soul breaking. 

Gingerly Sophitia gripped the hand shakily holding her cup of wine. 

“This does not mean there is no hope. We should of course try, if you are both willing. I only wanted you to know that I could not promise it will return him to how he was.” Her hand squeezed Medea’s wrist. “When I pursued Soul Edge, there was a man I could not help, he was too far gone, I could only ease it, not take it away. And when I destroyed it before a piece of it stayed with me. It may be the same for him. He may always carry a piece.” 

“A-anything. Anything to make it easier for him to bear.” 

Sophitia smiled. “You love him very much.” Unable to force any words out around tears that were a painful mix of hope and dread, Medea could only nod. “That will help him as much as anything. To have a reason to fight. I will do all that I can, and perhaps together we can bring him back from the brink. Permanently this time. There is a temple not far from here, devoted to Hephaestus. That is the god who granted me my powers. If you both meet us there tomorrow, I will try.” 

“Thank you.” Though they were more strangers than friends, Medea could not resist the sudden urge to throw her arms around Sophitia as tightly as one would a sister. She seemed unphased, gently rubbing Medea’s back until she felt something like calm once more. 

It was enough to have hope. Even faint hope. 

The tiniest spark of light at the end of a tunnel that had been growing steadily darker. 

 

She knew that Grøh had been pacing by the track of trampled grass he had worn along the edge of the campsite. 

She realized she had been gone far longer than she had promised him when he rushed towards her, collided with her like he was a moving brick wall, and held her so tightly her toes almost left the ground. 

“Grøh-”

“You frightened me.” It was muffled into the crook of her neck. “I did not know if Aval had taken you or-”

“I… forgive me, love. I should not have taken so long. I needed… never mind.” 

“Needed?” He prompted, concern still heavy in his voice. 

“Sophitia agreed to help. But she is uncertain if it will… I needed to prepare.” 

“I understand.” Grøh said, mouth pressed tight against her neck, and Medea felt as if he somehow managed to pull her closer despite the fact she was nearly crushed against him. 

Soul Calibur had to be the last resort. If it came down to using that on him again, Medea felt it down to her bones that it would be the end. 

She would not leave it all to Sophitia, not when Grøh’s life was the one at risk. However she could help, whatever power of her own she could offer up, she would give to him. 

That meant there were preparations that needed to be made, rituals she had been neglecting too long, potions to be mixed, bonds to be reforged. 

Part of her wanted nothing more than to be wrapped around him for the night, but it served no one but her own selfish wish. 

So she had dragged herself through the market, collected ingredients, a few new jars. Simple, but in her hands, hopefully enough. 

“Love… Grøh.” 

“Hm.” 

“I need some time. I must be ready to help however I can.” 

“Ah.” He released her slowly, edging back only a few inches. His eyes seemed too bright in the lengthening shadows, but no trace of crimson was there. “Do what you must.” 

“A few cleansing rituals, a circle to build power. I will come to bed as soon as I finish,” she promised, taking his face in her hands, refusing to let him look away, to feel like she was pushing him away. “Just… give me a little time to do what I can to save you. And then I want to spend the night with you.” 

The corner of his mouth lifted only enough to be noticeable. “I would… love that.” 

“I promise.” She kissed him fiercely, let her hands drift away, could not help but feel he was slipping through her fingers, a little at a time. She shook the feeling away. Hope. She must have hope. Belief in Sophitia, Grøh, herself. 

Faith could get you through when everything else failed. 

It was clear that it pained him, but Grøh gave her the requested space. His hand lingered until hers dropped away and he could reach no further while she ventured into the trees. 

Medea resisted to urge to say to hell with her rituals and run back to his arms, instead gathering her tools. She had lost her proper athame ages ago somewhere in either Italy or France and so it had been replaced by her sword, unwieldy though it might be, and since she had long ago learned carrying too much was not a risk worth taking, her tea kettle had begun to double as her cauldron. 

But her mother had always taught her that it was not the tools, but the intent behind the magic. 

Love was the noblest intention she could muster. 

The moon was waning, as good a phase as any for this daunting task. Medea made a brief journey through the woods to the river nearby. Closer to the city it funneled into ducts and man-made streams, but here it was wide and natural, slow moving and bathed in moonlight. 

Sophitia had faith in her god, gifts given. Medea would not fault her, would not doubt it, but wanted to ask her own deities for any additional assistance they might offer. 

Medea set her circle, grounding items at each corner, a bit of incense she had been saving for a long while lit on a stone in the center before her. She looked up at the moon, hovering overhead in its pale silence, imagined her goddess, sometimes the triple goddess, sometimes only a single image. Here she was… Sophitia would know her as Hecate, and it was the name Medea opted to call. 

Ritual work was… soothing in its way. Comforting routine, and a reminder of exactly what she was capable of with or without the soul sword. It had fallen by the wayside during the battle against the chaos, and she felt guilty for having neglected her connections as long as she had. 

She felt energized when she broke the circle, walking widdershins with the tip of her sword nearly touching the earth. Energized, powerful. More in tune with things than she had in a long while. 

And now… cleansing. 

Realistically it would take months to wash away what the last couple of years had built up in her soul. The fighting, the deaths, by her hands, or those she had assisted in. All the magic she had cast without proper recompense. All the power she had taken for herself from the fissures and Soul Calibur that did not truly belong to her. 

She did not have months. She had tonight. 

Medea stripped down to her skin -not a necessary step, but one that felt more meaningful, to literally bare herself to the goddess- stepping slowly into the water to avoid slipping on the rocks. 

Just about waist high where it could not pull her away, she stopped. It was cold, goosebumps springing up on her skin instantly and making her teeth chatter, but she refused to retreat. 

If she could not endure a little cold water what good was she going to be tomorrow? 

Her hands spread, balancing just on top of the water, she called a little of the energy she had just received. Pictured the river carrying away some of the grime and the pain and the fear. 

The shivering started to slow, and she started to feel the current like it was that of her own blood, carrying away what she would not need so that she may focus on what was important tomorrow. 

She cupped water in her hands, splashed it over her chest, her face, poured it over the top of her head as best she was able. 

She felt eyes on her, knew who they belonged to without looking. He had not wanted to be alone tonight, she knew that with blazing clarity. But it was not meant to be all night. 

Medea turned, meeting Grøh’s gaze where he stood on the bank. 

His expression was intent, drawn as if he was in pain, his pale hair silvery in the moonlight, eyes bright, blue-gray glass, glimmering with… something. 

_ Tears…?  _

“Grøh?” She had never seen him express anything so… plainly, let alone his hurt. 

He did not answer verbally, instead marching into the water fully clothed and not seeming to care in the slightest. 

Within inches of Medea, his fingers burrowed into her hair near her ears, holding her tightly, his chest pressing against hers when he moved even closer, the warmth of his body a shock in contrast with the cold river. The cool metal of the gauntlet on one side, the heat of his skin on the other. 

“Forgive me.” The words tore out of him like a ragged breath, his eyes burning into hers. He kissed her, stealing the breath she had tried to take, molding her to him until her back had to bow slightly backwards, her hands clamping tightly to handfuls of his shirt against his broad back. 

Medea’s heart hammered in her chest like it was trying to take flight, feeling like this was a goodbye and terrified of the fact. 

Grøh was panting when he finally pulled away only a mere inch, she could feel his breath on her lips, and though she felt as though she might pass out, she wished he would kiss her again. 

“The ritual is to cleanse.” He said suddenly, and she realized had almost forgotten why she was truly out here. “So I will not ask you to undo it for my sake. You need not corrupt yourself again with me. This will be enough.” 

His hands slid down her arms lightly, gently moving her away from him. 

“Love-” Medea reached for him, suddenly not caring what happened tomorrow if she could only have tonight, knowing it was damn foolish, and yet, not able to convince herself it was not a worthy trade. Grøh caught her wrists and held them at bay. 

“You have sinned enough for me. This will be enough. It was enough to feel your love. I ask no more of you, Medea.” Something like a smile graced his mouth, a smile that was almost a grimace of pain. “I will be nearby, should you need me for anything else, but I will interfere with you no further.” 

And with that, he turned and walked away, sloshing out of the water slowly, vanishing into the trees toward their camp before Medea could find her voice. And when she did, what came out sounded more like mumbled curses than words. 

She should go after him. She wanted to. She would. 

She had to finish here first. He was depending on her to help him tomorrow. To finally make this right. 

Finally save him. She must finish it. 

*** 

 

Medea had wanted to rush the remainder of her ceremony, but did not. It was important that it was done correctly; if it was not, she may cause more harm than good. 

When she felt she could do no more, felt that she had as much support as the goddess could offer, she set off in search of her love, carrying the last piece she needed. 

The woods surrounding the river were silent save for the night creatures, the road was far enough away that even if it was heavily trafficked, there was no fear of unwanted company. 

Grøh was not at the campsite itself, sitting several feet away from the dark fire pit, his back against a tree and his eyes closed as if in sleep. Medea knew him well enough to see that he was merely pretending, Aerondight propped in his arm, one leg folded up to easily push him to his feet. He continued the ruse even as she drew near. 

“Grøh.” Her hand brushed the top of his hair -still damp from when he had waded into the river after her- and he opened his eyes briefly, glanced up at her. Then swiftly turned his head away when he saw she was still naked. It made her want to smile. He had never been shy about looking at her before. 

“What do you need?” 

“I… this will… bind us. If you are willing.” She offered a little jar, moon water and a few herbs for protection. A drop, a tiny drop of her blood. Nothing untoward, nothing with ill intent. Just a small piece of her to keep with him, forge an even stronger bond. 

She hoped, prayed, that it would be enough to keep him with her. 

Grøh accepted and drank without question, but did make a face when he finished. “That will help?” 

“I hope so. I suppose we shall have to wait and see.” She sighed softly. His eyes tracked her movement as Medea lowered herself to kneel before him. Her hands on his face, gentle, loving. “But it may let me call you back if I start to lose you.”

“Medea, stop.” He leaned his head away. “I told you I would not-”

She cut him off, her mouth on his. Pressed gently when he remained still. She leaned back only enough to speak, reassure him. “This… us being together, it is not a sin. It was never a sin because it was borne from love. In the eyes of my gods, a joining is a powerful thing. Two becoming one.” Pure love, true love. The kind that drew them together body and soul. Medea had never loved anyone the way she loved Grøh. He merely stared at her. “I want to be with you tonight.” 

He sighed softly, right hand lifted to her face, trailing her cheekbone. “You should not-”

“Please.” 

Her plea, half-whispered, seemed almost to break him. 

It hung unspoken between them, the fear that they may never have this again. Neither knew what was to happen tomorrow, this could be the beginning of the end. 

Aerondight hit the forest floor with a soft clatter, Grøh suddenly on his knees in front of her, his left arm at her lower back, pulling her flush to his chest, his legs braced on either side of hers, embracing her with his entire body. 

Medea wrapped her arms around his neck, pressed her cheek to his, held as tightly as she could without choking him. 

He rose to his feet, carried her like she was a waif, and moments later Medea felt her back land gently on their shared bedding. 

Something gave him pause. Grøh gently pried himself from her, sat back on his haunches, looking away. His right hand was holding his left at the wrist. 

She knew before he reached for them, the shackles rattling like church bells in the silence. 

“Grøh-” Medea sat, reaching to settle her hands over his; he had already locked his left hand in, though she could scarcely imagine it was comfortable over top the gauntlet. She took the key, turned the lock back. 

“I can not-” he started, and then his voice cracked. Failed him. 

“You can.” She wrapped her hands around his again. She knew in her heart. “Tonight… nothing between us. No fears, no barriers, no restraints. Just you and I, together as one.” 

“If I hurt you…” 

“I will stop you.” Her fingers found the closure at his wrist for his gauntlet, undoing it slowly, watching him, giving him time to stop her if he wanted. He watched her hands on his wrist intently, silently. The two clasps on his forearm came undone, Grøh remained still as a statue. “Trust yourself as I do. You would never harm me, I believe that.” 

One more fastening, and she was able to slide the gauntlet off gingerly. An inch at a time, gauging his reaction. Grøh let it pull away without protest, but she could see his jaw clenching. He expected the worst. 

Medea set the armor aside, and waited, let Grøh decide the next step. 

It seemed like several minutes passed before his fingers made the first tentative motions towards her. His left hand brushed her arm, hesitated, dropped away again. She caught his fingers gently, brought his hand to her mouth and kissed his knuckles. He had done the same to her more times than she could remember. 

She guessed his was thinking the same when his mouth ticked slightly. Her fingers traced cords of muscle, the surprisingly delicate-looking bone of his wrist, the edges of the scars that seemed redder than before. 

Grøh observed all her actions in stoic silence. He was afraid of his own reactions, she knew this intuitively. Afraid that if he gave an inch without some form of restraint, the demon would take a mile. 

Perhaps she was… pushing too far. Testing limits he clearly did not want to. But seeing him chained when he was already suffering so… Medea did not think her heart could take it. Her thumbs ran over the deep scar in his wrist, felt his pulse pounding beneath her touch. 

“Just to be near you. That is… all I want.” The capacity, the reason did not matter. He nodded once, and she smiled.

Though she did not ask, he seemed to decide that if she was abstaining from clothes, he ought to as well, and left his in a pile in the corner. She briefly considered they should hang them up, since they were still fairly soaked from the river, but the worries of him catching a cold faded when he moved to her side. They lay facing each other, and he tucked his right hand under her head. 

“I… you have my apology,” Grøh said after a moment.

“Oh, love, no. You owe me no apologies.” She reached for his other hand, and he gave it willingly enough, let her press it over her heart, her fingers tangling around his. “Remember, this goes both ways. I will take no more than you are willing and able to give.” 

His eyes wandered her face, searching for something, though she was not sure what. 

“I am afraid, Medea.” 

“Of-?”

“Not of death.” He shook his head slightly, as much as he could while lying down. “That the last memories I leave you with may be of a monster.” 

“You are not a monster. I have always known that, even when you did not.” He made little grunt that sounded like a denial. “That will never be how I think of you. If it comes to that, this what I will remember. Moments when we were happy. When we were together.” 

“And… are you?” She tilted her head at him quizzically, but before she could ask, the rest of what he wanted to say tumbled from Grøh in a rush. “Are you happy? With me? The… choices you made for my sake?” 

“Yes.” She leaned her head forward, tucking it against his shoulder. 

And she hoped with all her heart that she still could be after tomorrow. 

As she drifted to sleep, she thought again of the vision she had seen speaking to Dion, and for a moment imagined so strongly that she and Grøh were instead in her bed back in her cabin that she could almost smell the familiar drying herbs, mint and sage and lavender, the roses she grew outside her bedroom window, could hear the owls that frequented her small corn patch for prey. 

More than anything, she wanted to give him the kind of peace she had always felt in those woods. She wanted Grøh to be free of the pain and torment and the darkness that haunted him. 

Medea feared that death may be the only way to grant him solace. 


End file.
